IN  THE  COUNTRY 
GOD  FORGOT 

A  STORY  OF  TO-DAY 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 


In  the 
Country  God  Forgot 

A  SrORT  OF  TO-DAY 


By 

FRANCES   CHARLES 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  £#   COMPANY 
1902 


Copyright,  igoz, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved 


PUBLISHED  APRIL,  1902 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  •  JOHN  WILSON 
AND   SON    •    CAMBRIDGE,   U.S.A. 


To  that  which  has  abided  through  many  years,  —  the 
influence  of  my  sister's  life 

'«  When  good  men  die  their  goodness  does  not  perish, 
But  lives  though  they  are  gone  ' ' 


2226773 


CONTENTS 

Part  First 

PAGI 

MEES  BAX i 

THE  ROMANCE  OF  HOPE     .....».,  7 

A  GU'L •.     .   ...  16 

ON  A  STAGE 27 

COALS  TO  NEWCASTLE 48 

WHOM  GOD  HATH  JOINED 60 

MAID  AND  MAN 73 

Two  LETTERS 91 

A  BRANDING  SCENE 103 

ON  WOMAN  —  "IN  OUR  HOURS  OF  EASE"     .     .  117 

CAMP  AND  A  GIRL 130 

ON  A  CALENDAR  (SECONDARILY) 140 

THE  DEED  OF  A  FADED  DAGUERREOTYPE      .     .  150 

Part  Second 

ON  UNPRACTISED  "  SCIENCE  " 171 

MASTER? 182 

A  DREAMER  AND  SOME  DREAMS 192 

AN  INTERLUDE  ON  MATHEMATICS 200 

vii 


Contents 

PAGI 

SUMMONS'S  ADVICE 213 

THE  CAUSE  OF  A  FIGHT 222 

IN  THE  NAME  OF  GOD  —  AMEN  ! 236 

ONE  NIGHT 243 

MR.  AND  MRS.  BOSTON  JIM 260 

ABOUT  A  "  CLUB  " 271 

THE  DAY 280 

A  LITTLE  STORY 300 

THE  SACRIFICIAL  LAMB 304 

A  SWORD  LAID  BY 313 

ON  A  CHILD 319 


vi  n 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 


PART    FIRST 
MEES   BAX 

ONE  day,  in  a  year  of  our  Lord  which  is 
too  recent  as  yet  to  mention,  a  woman 
stood  in  the  doorway  of  Carl  Weffold's 
adobe.  She  was  staring  out  on  the  God-forgotten 
country  which  people  have  baptized  Arizona. 
During  this  long  trailing  survey  of  her  hot,  hand- 
some eyes,  it  were  well  to  study  the  cactus  land, 
as  reflected. 

The  utter  silences  of  working-time  wrapped  her 
in  a  sort  of  desolation  which  seemed  to  make 
her  throbbing  distaste  of  immediate  surroundings 
doubly  dumb,  for  there  are  some  things  we 
should  not  say,  even  have  we  listeners  for  them. 

She  was  also  pale,  as  one  still  listless  from  a 
too  hot  summer.  Complexion  and  manner  both 
implied  this.  I  think,  too,  this  impression  was 
heightened  by  the  simple  black  gown  that  she 
wore,  —  like  one  of  mourning. 

In  the  same  manner,  eyes  and  height  alike 
proclaimed  her  no  native  of  Arizona.  For  there 
was  in  one  the  stretching  heimweh  of  some  goodly 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

distance,  while  the  form  half  propped  against  the 
sturdy  post  was  as  divinely  tall  as  the  proverbial 
goddess. 

Her  drab,  hopeless  personality  became  more 
and  more  fixed  as  one  gazed  upon  her.  There 
was  naturally  the  suggestion  of  such  conflicts  as 
are  inevitable  when  alien  bodies  meet ;  but  more 
than  this  seemed  suggested,  the  sacrifices  attend- 
ing assimilation.  For  what  we  have  lost  is  still 
often  ours  by  its  very  absence. 

She  knew  many  things  as  she  leaned  there.  She 
let  thoughts  come,  and  then  despised  herself  for 
their  recurrence  —  woman-like.  It  is  women 
who  represent  your  endless  variety.  They  make 
playthings  of  their  own  emotions.  So  with 
Mees  Bax  that  day.  She  exulted  now  over  the 
Weffbld  possessions.  She  seemed  to  hold  in  a 
measure  the  future  mighty  issues  of  both  cattle 
and  land;  her  woman's  heart  throbbed  with  the 
gladness  and  pity,  femininely  intermingled,  at- 
tendant on  owning  great  water-rights  in  a  famish- 
ing country. 

It  was  a  womanly  face  with  this  tender  phase 
of  feeling  on  it,  but  presently  were  also  blent 
the  breathless  remembrances  of  her  own  little 
romance,  the  majesties  of  her  labor  and  mother- 
hood. 

She  stretched  her  arms  a  little,  as  one  stirring 
2 


Mees  Bax 

in  a  pleasant  trance.  She  tried  to  raise  her  con- 
trite eyes  to  Heaven,  as  located  to  our  childish 
minds.  But  even  so,  half-way  —  wandering, 
tender,  sentimental  —  there  came  a  chilling  nega- 
tiveness  to  them. 

It  was  the  Major  coming  along  his  own  high- 
road. His  meagre  hair  fell  under  his  wide  white 
sombrero,  long  and  gray ;  his  keen  eyes  under 
their  bushy  brows  were  impenetrably  cold  as 
ever ;  over  a  noticeable  hollowness  of  chest  rested 
the  long  quiet  beard.  Otherwise,  he  was  very 
erect  for  his  age,  and  rather  tall, — in  all  very  much 
like  any  other  seventy-year-old  soldier. 

Robbie  was  Mees  Bax's  sister  who  lived  in 
Chicago,  and  wrote  long,  intolerant-of-the-country 
society-letters  to  Weffold's  once  a  week.  She  had 
been  the  kind  of  person  one  called  incorrigible  as 
a  little  girl  and  totally  charming  as  a  big  one.  The 
only  sad  part  to  this  fact  was  that  she  knew  it. 

"Your  description  of  your  father-in-law,  my 
dear,"  she  would  write,  "  reminds  me  forcibly  of 
the  wooden  soldiers  on  frame-work  which  we  used 
to  play  with  when  we  were  young.  They  used 
to  be  very  irritating,  only  I  did  n't  know  it  then. 
We  had  to  stand  them  up  to  begin  with,  and  then 
knock  them  over  before  they  fell, — it  is  too  au- 
tomatic: not  human  enough  for  humans  —  don't 
you  think  ?  " 

Mrs.  Bax  would  write  back  on  these  occasions : 
3 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  Your  remarks  about  my  father-in-law,  dear- 
est, were  not  nice.  For  one  thing,  I  don't  re- 
member what  we  thought  as  children,  and  for 
another,  I  don't  think  —  now  — "  After  a  suffi- 
cient period  to  justify  distance  and  the  mail,  Mrs. 
Bax  would  open  six  or  seven  thin,  closely-scribbled 
sheets.  "  The  worst  fault,"  she  would  read,  "  of 
the  country  is,  it  obliterates  personality  so  effect- 
ually in  time, — just  like  boarding-houses  and 
marriage,"  —  every  extra-expressive  adverb,  verb, 
etc.,  being  English  capitalized. 

"  You  are  an  absorption,  not  an  entity.  Some- 
thing is  at  work  on  your  individuality  lately.  I 
can't  believe  Bax  guilty  of  it.  I  think  it  is  your 
father-in-law." 

On  such  occasions  the  woman  who  was  reading 
would  stir  and  grow  restless,  and  seem  to  yearn 
over  this  thing  which,  't  was  said,  was  slipping  from 
her.  Seated  in  her  queer  little  room,  perhaps  she 
would  stare  around  her,  as  if  seeking  satisfaction 
for  her  queries,  peace  for  her  wonder,  recovery  of 
her  own. 

And  staring  back  at  her  often  on  these  occa- 
sions from  bed,  chair,  child's  crib,  or  bureau  would 
be  a  woollen  elephant,  —  solemn,  inanimate,  well- 
handled,  on  one  side  the  strong  smell  of  pepper- 
mint candy,  but  compensatory  beyond  all  doubt 
—  Do  I  need  to  tell  you  any  more  ? 

4 


Mees  Bax 

As  Mees  Bax  turned  aside  now,  her  recent  in- 
timate and  innocent  reflections  became  so  familiar 
as  to  turn  her  heart  sick  at  the  mere  remembrance 
of  them. 

For  the  country  God  forgot,  with  its  limits,  its 
calm  and  barrennesses,  found  a  certain  imitation 
of  its  sterility  here. 

A  bitter  agony  of  revolt  possessed  her. 

"  It  is  unbearable,"  Mees  Bax  muttered. 

It  was  in  the  hallway. 

She  walked  slowly.  She  drank  punishingly 
of  her  humiliation  ;  she  bent  her  proud  head 
now  in  shame ;  she  raised  it  again  in  burning 
wrath. 

Two  spots  glowed  on  either  side  of  her  face. 
Out  of  her  mental  rage  she  mastered  the  great 
facts  of  the  house  and  her  presence. 

Presently  she  reached  a  room  wherein  a  little 
child  was  playing.  He  did  not  see  her  just  at 
first,  but  when  he  did,  his  face  lighted.  He  did 
not  discard  the  mucilage  pot  from  which  he  had 
been  procuring  amusement,  but,  with  the  liberality 
of  our  young  affections,  accepted  both  pleasures 
with  a  quaint  complacence. 

As  his  mother  continued,  he  even  tried  to  solve 
her  mood  by  his  own  autocratic  measures,  and 
successful  as  they  generally  were,  the  little  de- 
liberate voice  cooled  the  bitterness  of  the  problem 
for  her. 

5 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  Me  luv  oo,"  it  said ;  "  come  'ere,  me  'ont  to 
'ug  oo." 

She  understood.  It  was  manlike  consolation 
enough,  —  embryonic,  as  you  will.  In  a  wild 
whirl  of  true  feminine  submission,  she  flung  her- 
self on  her  knees  beside  him.  Her  head  leaned 
on  Carl  Weffold's  broad  bed ;  she  knelt  on  Carl 
WefFold's  floor;  his  roof  covered  both  her  and 
her  offspring. 

Her  head  seemed  to  burst  with  its  helplessness 
over  the  complexities  of  her  own  misplacement. 

She,  the  woman  who  most  despised  him,  the 
woman  he  most  despised,  the  wife  and  mother 
of  his  heirs  — 

As  she  continued  sobbing,  the  child  forgot  his 
mucilage  pot.  It  became  secondary,  and,  upset- 
ting, flowed  over  her  rich  dark  hair.  Seeing  this, 
he  patted  the  damp  places  gently  with  a  furtive 
entertainment  in  it  of  which  he  was  probably  not 
even  aware.  His  little  fat  hand  came  to  glisten 
kindly.  Once  it  closed  tightly  around  her  neck. 
Between  whiles  he  called,  "  Mommie,  mommie, 
mommie  —  dear  !  " 


THE    ROMANCE   OF   HOPE 

THE  "West  Bound"  rolled  through 
Short's  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Short's  was  not  much  of  itself,  save  that 
it  held  solitary  railroad  communication  with  the 
lively  little  town  of  Hope,  some  twenty  miles  or 
so  distant. 

There  had  been  no  Short's,  or  Hope  either, 
till  the  third  summer  or  so  before.  People  just 
called  that  part  of  the  country  "  Weffold's 
Range."  It  was  a  vague,  yet  comprehensive, 
term  which  took  in  more  square  miles  than  a  man 
could  do  in  a  day  on  horseback.  This  dated 
back  farther  than  history.  Before  man  had  set 
even  the  foot  of  possession  firmly  in  Arizona, 
Carl  Weffold's  Range  had  existed.  He  had 
come  in  the  midst  of  the  worst  Apache  warfare  ; 
he  had  defied  them  with  but  one  friend,  his 
rifle ;  he  had  stood  by  the  country  through 
drought  and  famine,  until  now  he  stood  hand  in 
hand  with  its  progress,  —  a  stern  old  pioneer  of 
the  waste  of  sand  hills. 

But  in  this  God-forgotten  country  there  are 
signs,  as  all  know,  in  His  emulation.  Thus,  so 

7 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

that  limit  might  be  placed  to  the  Weffold  past- 
ures, nature  had  thrown  up  her  barren  hills  in 
rude,  compelling  fences.  The  Major,  content 
with  his  own  little  kingdom,  stopped  at  these 
uplifted  hands  of  authority. 

Then  one  day  a  tramp  came  along  —  a  weary, 
happy-go-lucky  fellow.  He  had  a  little  pro- 
spector's pack  on  his  back,  and  much  of  the 
divine  grace  which  is  laid  to  the  sum  of  a  prince  in 
some  ancient  story.  He  laughed  now  and  again 
as  he  kicked  up  the  dust ;  he  whistled  as  he  toiled 
alongside  the  barbed-wire  fence  which  guarded 
the  Weffold  tanks  and  its  pastures,  its  great  herds 
of  cattle  and  well-built  corrals.  Once  he  raised 
his  tattered  cap  with  mocking  grace  to  some 
stampeding  cattle.  The  day  was  perfect,  and  he 
lent  himself  charmingly  to  harmony. 

He  stopped  at  the  gate  leading  to  Maj'r  Wef- 
fold's  adobe.  It  swung  by  a  homemade  contriv- 
ance of  two  tin  cans  filled  with  clods  of  earth. 
It  was  very  funny,  and  afforded  a  childlike 
amusement  which  was  nearly  French.  He  was 
very  hungry,  but  begged  neither  food  nor  drink. 
He  chatted  lightly,  entertainingly,  casually  to  his 
host.  After  a  whiskey  or  so,  Texan's  measure, 
he  approached  an  even  greater  perfection  of  non- 
chalance. He  laughed,  and  it  was  good  acting. 
He  was  a  New  Yorker  —  Garnet,  by  name  (with 


The  Romance  of  Hope 

a  bow) — Richard  Garnet.  Dick  was  better,  merely 
Dick.  It  was  a  good  name  in  his  own  part  of 
the  country. 

He  would  not  detain  the  Maj'r  longer.  He 
did  not  know  the  length  of  his  own  journey.  It 
was  toward  Hope.  Just  two  hours  after  he  had 
seen  the  last  of  this  stranger,  the  joke  penetrated 
Carl  Weffold's  mercilessly  practical  head.  He  re- 
called the  suave,  mocking  face,  the  white,  gentle- 
manly hands,  the  light,  graceful  figure,  the  clever 
intuitions  of  the  fellow  who  had  just  gone,  and 
there  came  in  bitter,  overwhelming  contrast,  Bax's 
deadly,  immovable  earnestness  and  strong,  quiet 
face. 

Over  that  thought,  he  went  to  the  door,  and, 
as  one  on  whom  God  had  bestowed  a  fool  for 
his  first-born,  gulped  down  the  great  Nazarene's 
name  in  fierce,  gurgling  wrath. 

The  stranger  slept  that  night  on  the  hills,  the 
next  perhaps,  and  several  more  of  them. 

Two  weeks  later,  a  party  of  strangers  put  up  at 
Weffold's  a  gay  night  or  so.  The  first  stranger 
was  there  also.  He  drank  whiskey  oftener.  He 
seemed  more  feverish  than  ever.  When  their 
verdict  over  his  find  came  in,  he  staggered  out 
of  the  room  at  last,  like  one  in  liquor,  and 
every  one  imagined  it  was  so,  and  that  the  new 
protege  of  Fortune  had  gone  to  sleep  it  off.  In- 

9 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

stead  of  that  he  went  into  his  bed-room,  carefully 
closing  and  locking  the  door.  He  sat  down  by 
a  small  deal  table.  He  stared  a  little  while 
drunkenly  before  him  (but  not  with  wine).  He 
stretched  out  his  arms  with  a  strange,  yearning 
gesture,  and  then  suddenly  burst  into  tears,  — 
such  as  men  weep  when  their  strength  is  gone 
from  them  by  some  treacherous  prank  such  as 
the  emotions  can  play. 

Just  seven  and  one-half  days  later  a  letter 
arrived  in  New  York.  It  was  to  a  woman.  It 
bore  the  whimsical  trace  of  joy  and  grief,  futile 
remorse,  and  a  transfigurement  of  hope. 

She  read  it,  and  then  went  to  a  drawer  in  her 
desk  and  extracted  a  blotted,  well-handled  note, 
in  the  same  handwriting.  She  laid  the  two  side 
by  side.  As  she  read  them  both,  her  heart  beat 
fast,  and  a  strange  film  covered  her  strong,  pure 
eyes.  It  was  impossible  to  read  like  that ;  so 
she  rose  to  her  feet  and  walked  unsteadily  to  the 
window.  There  the  birds  sang  gloriously,  as  if 
in  a  passionate  Te  Deum. 

As  this  woman  watched,  God  put  it  into  the 
feet  of  an  old,  stooped,  weary  woman  to  turn  a 
curve  in  the  cottage  path  beneath  her  and  appear 
to  the  onlooker  above.  A  little  lad  capered  well 
before  her,  and  clinging  on  to  the  grandmother's 
hand  was  another  child.  Their  laughter  mingled 

10 


The  Romance  of  Hope 

innocently.  Obeying  the  impulse  to  thank  some 
one,  the  watcher  sank  suddenly  to  her  knees. 

Meanwhile  we  will  read  the  tattered  letter.  It 
was  dated  a  year  before. 

It  said:  — 

MY  WIFE  :  — I  cannot  bear  it.  Try  to  forgive  me ; 
I  am  going  away.  You  should  have  married  a  man  such 
as  Claude  will  be.  Your  eyes  are  the  same.  What  a 
team  you  would  have  made  to  be  sure !  What  a  man 
he  looked  the  other  evening  when  he  turned  over  his 
allowance  to  my  account !  Has  Heaven  compensated 
my  mother  for  one  bad  son  by  three  such  noble  fellows 
as  my  brothers  ?  I  have  been  a  fine  executor  for  his 
father  for  him  —  our  father  —  I  still  dare  to  say  it — I 
—  gambler,  drunkard,  forg — nay,  fool,  my  wife. 

With  your  prayers  and  my  burden  of  desolation  I  go 
forth.  DICK. 

The  note  written  on  WefFold's  Range,  in  old 
Carl's  Spartan  empty  chamber,  was  on  the  back 
of  a  scrap  of  paper  he  had  torn  from  a  book  on 
leaving  home.  It  was  like  him,  as  the  woman 
who  read  it  knew.  It  was  soiled  and  creased, 
and  old  and  greasy.  Probably  it  had  stolen  rides 
on  freight  trains,  been  driven  out  of  yards  by 
dogs,  been  starved  and  cursed  and  derided,  ac- 
cording to  the  fortunes  of  its  owner. 

"  And  that  I  may  not  make  you  weep,  I  have 
not  related  the  story  with  tears  of  blood  torn 

ii 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

from  the  eyes,  as  they  are  torn  from  my  heart  by 
the  grief  which  fills  it,  at  seeing  that  our  line  of 
Yncas  is  ended,  and  our  empire  lost." 

Penned  below  this  by  the  hand  with  most 
power  of  all  the  earth  to  make  or  mar  her  life, 
rich  with  the  passion  of  resurrection,  were  traced 
haltingly  these  words  :  — 

To  THE  HOME  I  ONCE  DESOLATED,  —  MY  MOTHER'S, 
MY  CHILDREN'S,  MY  WIFE'S  :  —  The  Garnet  mine  was 
incorporated  July  27th,  at  Hope,  Arizona.  I  have  been 
given  two  hundred  thousand  for  half  interest.  I  want  to 
see  my  children.  Have  I  earned  my  welcome  home  ? 

DICK. 

We  have  not  much  to  do  with  him;  only  it 
is  a  pretty  story.  Hope  tells  it  to  the  new- 
comers still.  It  has  been  worked  into  soft, 
wide-eyed  Spanish,  where  it  takes  on  a  more 
fairy-like  atmosphere  than  is  true. 

It  tells  of  a  tramp  become  a  millionaire  in  one 
night  near  old  Carl  Weffold's  tanks  and  his  past- 
ures and  long  accumulations  by  slow  German 
thrift,  on  the  very  hills  where  little  Bax  Weffold 
had  played  and  built  sand  houses  in  the  long  ago 
many  and  many  a  time,  at  the  very  hour  when 
Bax  Weffold,  grown,  lying  fever-struck  in  smil- 
ing San  Francisco,  heard  the  sound  of  the  wolf 
and  its  claws  at  his  threshold,  and  in  the  room 
with  him  were  wife  and  child. 

12 


The  Romance  of  Hope 

But  it  is  not  thus  sadly  that  Hope  shall  end 
its  gay  little  beginning.  Surely  not  so. 

For  it  is  of  a  man,  a  woman,  two  children,  and 
a  holiday  ramble,  that  I  wish  to  close  this  chapter 
on  Dick  Garnet's  luck  and  his  after  life. 

Every  year,  three  now,  they  tell  me,  these  four 
come  of  a  summer  to  Hope,  and  the  great  team 
goes  to  Short's  to  meet  them,  and  there  is 
great  rejoicing  throughout  the  town.  But  they 
will  have  none  of  this.  They  mount  the  crazy, 
rattling,  little  stage,  which  is  only  a  country 
wagon  with  one  seat  behind  the  one  before,  and 
the  little  heir  of  nearly  entire  Garnet  climbs 
alongside  Shorty,  who  is  much  embarrassed, 
though  a  good  fifty  years. 

And  the  little  lad  says  every  summer:  — 

"  And  is  Short's  name  af 'er  you,  Mr.  Shorty  ? " 

And  each  summer  Shorty  claps  his  hand  on 
his  knee  and  shouts :  — 

"  Gee  !  just  listen — just  listen,  will  yer  !  "  and 
laughs  aloud. 

And  so  they  jog  on  the  twenty  miles,  with  in- 
nocent, holy  pleasure,  —  this  blue-shirted,  over- 
ailed,  awkward  man,  these  lucky  little  beggars  of 
children,  this  woman  with  the  kind,  noble  lines 
to  her  face,  and  this  prosperous  man  whom  the 
devil  had  captured,  but  God  had  claimed  again, 
and  great  had  been  the  redemption. 

And  thus  they  enter  the  cluster  of  mining  huts 
13 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

which  man  has  decreed  to  call  town ;  and  here,  in 
the  superintendent's  house  (which  is  a  fine  adobe 
structure  with  all  sorts  of  modern  improvements, 
even  unto  electric  lights,  so  they  say),  great  prep- 
aration has  been  made  for  them,  and  the  fatted 
calf  (which  had  once  been  one  of  little  Don 
Weffold's  well  loved  possessions)  killed,  and 
much  else  besides. 

But  this  is  not  to  be  either.  This  great  family 
goes  to  the  Palace  Hotel,  which  is  two  wooden 
rows  of  rooms  and  a  respectable  hall  to  join  them, 
and,  amidst  great  rejoicing,  because  the  landlady's 
horse  must  needs  poke  his  head  wonderingly 
through  the  window,  the  owners  and  possessors 
of  this  throbbing,  wonderful  mine  so  near  them 
"put  up,"  in  Hope  language,  here. 

And  every  July,  rain  or  shine,  though  it  is 
always  shine,  and  too  much  of  it,  this  marvellous 
family  walks  abroad,  over  the  country  by  Carl 
Weffold's  pastures,  past  his  corrals  and  his  great 
tanks  of  water,  on  to  the  Garnet  mine. 

And  every  year,  for  he  is  still  a  little  fellow, 
little  Dick  Garnet  walks  on  ahead. 

"This,"  he  calls,  trudging  sturdily  over  the 
heated  stubbles,  "  is  where  funny  papa  got  out 
of  bread  and  butter,  or  was  it  only  bread  and  not 
butter,  papa  dear  ?  And  this  is  where  the  River 
of  Whiskey  dried  sudden'y  up.  When  a  thing 
do  dry  up,  dear  papa,  where  does  it  go  ?  And 

14 


The  Romance  of  Hope 

this  is  where  Dorothy  stumbled  las'  year,  and  the 
year  before ;  and  here  's  where  you  kiss  mamma 
like  you  was  sorry,  when  she  cried  —  an'  — 
an'  —  " 

"  I  think  I  shall  do  it  again,"  says  Dick. 

Women  are  funny  creatures.  There  were 
prayers  and  tears  and  smiles,  —  all  three  in  her 
eyes  as  she  raised  them,  and  there  was  a  certain 
look  to  his  own  face  which  was  no  work  of  the 
devil's,  —  for  all  this  made  Dick  a  better  man. 
And  so  Amen  to  it. 


A   GU'L 

SHORTY  was  polishing  his  rusty  bridle. 
He  had  already  washed  the  wheels  of  his 
stage,  glaring  furtively,  from  time  to  time, 
around  him  lest  Campbell  detect  this  unwonted 
cleanliness.  His  face  was  bent  and  twisted,  as  if 
he  imagined  his  mind  was  all  on  his  labor,  and 
it  was  very  red.  Now  and  again  he  conversed 
with  himself  about  the  bridle,  yet  in  a  guilty, 
embarrassed  way,  as  if  he  feared  it  or  some  other 
self  might  up  and  accuse  him,  if  he  allowed  per- 
fect silence. 

"  Guess  use  fine  bridles  on  city  horses.  Gawd, 
this  is  funny ;  can't  tell  how  it  got  so  brown ! 
Wonder  if  oughter  wear  my  coat.  Pshaw  !  how 
silly,  don't  care.  O  Laud  !  never  knowed  blamed 
coat  was  ripped  that  bad.  Damn  you  for  a  blazin' 
fool  —  " 

The  horses  switched  at  flies  in  silence.  Pres- 
ently Campbell  appeared.  He  bespoke  sturdy 
British  ancestry.  His  chest  was  like  a  black- 
smith's. He  had  a  set,  sunburnt  face  and  sun- 
burnt hair.  His  eyes  were  pale  blue  and  fastened 
on  some  invisible  object  straight  before  him  as  he 

talked. 

16 


A  Gu'f 

He  also  wore  overalls  and  a  cotton,  unorna- 
mented  shirt.  He  moralized  by  a  yard-measure 
method.  It  just  ran  out,  ending  with  a  click. 
On  such  occasions  Mr.  Campbell  was  either  too 
angry  to  continue,  or  too  much  out  of  breath. 
He  did  not  look  at  Shorty  nor  the  bridle,  the 
horses  nor  the  stage,  but  above  them  and  beyond 
them  all. 

"  A  gu'l  is  going  up  with  us  on  the  stage,"  he 
announced. 

"Pshaw!  Can't  be,"  said  Shorty;  "who 
say'd?" 

"  No  one  say'd,"  returned  Campbell ;  "  did  n't 
I  see  her  myself?  " 

"  You  don't  mean  it,"  persisted  Shorty;  "  where 
did  she  come  from  ? " 

"  Offern  the  train,"  answered  Campbell.  He 
spoke  in  a  thick,  British  voice. 

Shorty's  face  was  bursting.  His  suspenderless 
trousers  had  slipped  a  bit,  and  lent  him  a  gro- 
tesque stomach.  He  went  perfidiously  to  the 
door,  and  gazed  long  at  an  unusual  and  dainty 
figure  poised  on  the  threshold  of  the  waiting- 
room. 

"  Well,  I  '11  be  blowed,"  he  said. 

Campbell  could  stand  no  more  of  it. 

"  You  seen  her,  I  say,"  he  remarked.  His 
eyes  were  fixed,  but  his  tone  was  aggressive. 

"  I  did  n't  neither.     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 
2  17 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"You  did.  I  seen  you  pr'parin'  to  take 
her  up." 

Shorty  sputtered  futilely.  His  face  became 
more  ashamed  and  purplish. 

"  'Pears  like  you  are  pretty  much  slicked  up 
yourself,"  he  snapped. 

This  had  to  do  with  Mr.  Campbell's  cleaner 
face  (if  I  may  so  express  it)  and  his  wet  hair. 

Meanwhile  the  girl  in  question  stepped  out  of 
the  waiting-room  door.  She  was  worth  a  glance. 
It  was  in  August  then,  and  the  sun,  which  in  an 
hour  or  so  would  steal  the  acumen  of  critics 
entirely,  lent  a  golden  friendliness  to  her  beauty 
now.  Her  loneliness,  as  well,  seemed  under 
the  severe  and  rather  ridiculous  protection  of 
that  independence  peculiar  to  American  maidens, 
every  one  of  whom  is  a  princess,  they  say.  She 
was  indeed  not  so  very  different  from  the  several 
million  princesses  of  her  land.  She  had  neutral 
hair  and  eyes,  not  blonde,  nor  yet  tropic.  In 
fact,  just  such  hair  and  eyes  as  American  inter- 
marriage should  produce  as  a  result  in  time. 
More  than  this,  she  wore  the  cool  regulation 
shirt-waist,  the  neat  dark  skirt,  and  prim,  gentle- 
manly tie.  Yet  she  was  very  pretty.  Sometimes 
I  think  it  was,  after  all,  her  fair,  clean  skin,  more 
than  the  straight,  true  little  features.  It  is  nice, 
in  this  dried,  sallow  territory  of  ours,  to  see  a  skin 

18 


A  Gul 

like  that,  smooth  as  a  good  grade  of  satin,  and 
cool  as  an  oasis  in  a  desert,  —  as  if  the  springs 
were  pure. 

At  a  respectable  distance  from  the  house,  she 
said  something.  It  was  to  the  hills,  to  the  few, 
very  few  shanties  toward  which  she  walked,  or  to 
the  surrounding  ether  ;  certainly  to  no  living  soul, 
—  since  Shorty  and  Mr.  Campbell,  while  admiring 
her  very  self,  were  very  invisible  while  at  it,  and 
the  person  of  whom  she  spoke  could  hardly  be 
adjudged  a  reasonable  audience  for  the  utterance. 

"  I  hate  that  man,"  was  the  remark. 

That  man  was  twenty  feet  in  the  rear.  He  did 
not  look  remarkably  guilty  of  hatred,  save  that 
in  this  great  state  of  bold,  free,  fine  cow-men  he 
wore  a  coat,  a  boiled  shirt,  and  a  college  air. 
Otherwise,  he  was  made  in  the  usual  image  as- 
cribed by  the  chosen  to  God.  He  was  tall  beside 
the  girl  (which  counts  a  great  deal  in  this  story) ; 
his  hair,  his  eyes,  his  mouth,  were  much  the  same 
as  those  of  his  fellows.  And  as  youth  was  plainly 
favoring  his  days,  it  is  safe  to  presume,  in  a  year 
or  so,  he  would  have  a  very  seemly  moustache  on 
that  firm  upper  lip  where  only  poor  but  eminently 
respectable  hairs  appeared  occasionally  now. 

It  was  not,  alas,  his  rather  sallow  skin  which 
called  public  attention  to  him,  as  a  man,  a  citizen, 
or  a  soul.  It  was  merely  that  something  which, 
in  occasional  boyhood,  is  accounted  pure ;  in  man- 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

hood,  a  strength  passing  understanding,  on  which 
a  part  of  the  world  must  lean.  This  man,  I  had 
better  tell  it,  was  in  much  of  his  boyhood  still. 
He  was  very  young,  perhaps  twenty-four. 

He  was  watching  the  girl  before  him.  He  did 
not  know  she  hated  him,  but  recognized  that  she 
was  a  lady,  a  very  young  lady,  and  he  was  saying 
to  himself:  If  she  were  his  daughter  (a  daughter 
of  his,  mind  you,  at  twenty-four),  she  should  not 
be  travelling  unprotected. 

A  very  worthy  sentiment,  however  high-strung, 
we  are  sure. 

The  dining-room  of  the  principal,  in  fact,  only 
hotel  of  Short's  was  like  a  large-sized  box  of 
boards  planted,  impromptu  fashion,  on  mother- 
earth,  open  end  down,  leaving  a  natural  flooring, 
as  you  may  deduce,  which  was  pleasantly  prime- 
val. A  tin  pan  hung  outside  this  resort,  upon 
which  Boston  Jim  and  his  wife  were  wont  to  beat 
thrice  a  day  with  an  iron  spoon,  and  thus  summon 
their  guests  to  meals. 

The  interior  of  this  remarkable  building  was 
fully  as  unique  as  the  exterior.  Light,  the  same 
golden  dawn  (for  it  was  still  only  five)  which  had 
enveloped  the  little  stranger,  entered  by  great, 
kindly-disposed  cracks  which  someway  could  not 
help  suggesting  their  parallel  behavior  during 
such  a  contingency  as  an  ambitious,  "  up-to-date  " 
thunderstorm. 

20 


A  Giil 

A  table  ran  down  the  middle  of  the  room.  As 
the  floor  was  bumpy,  and  no  attempt  had  been 
made  to  remedy  this  natural  attraction,  it  wobbled, 
from  time  to  time,  while  great  flapping  sheets  of 
brown  wrapping-paper  added  to  the  liveliness  of 
the  scene.  These  were  amateur  attempts  at  fly- 
drivers,  and  were  manipulated  from  time  to  time 
by  a  wire  hung  from  end  to  end  of  the  room, 
which  the  guests  stirred  solemnly  by  turns. 

A  lank  curtain  was  strung  across  the  end  of 
this  novel  apartment,  making  a  very  pretentious 
kitchen  at  a  very  modest  cost,  say  seven  or  eight 
yards  of  crinoline,  or  cretonne,  or  other  feminine 
material,  such  as  is  turned  by  women  into  deco- 
ration. 

Over  a  very  hot  wood  stove  in  this  sub-sanctum, 
Mrs.  Boston  Jim  (may  one  so  convert  his  title  ?) 
prepared  flap-cakes,  fried  eggs,  boiled  ham,  and 
other  edibles  inappropriate  to  hot  weather. 

On  such  occasions  as  when  some  dashed  Mexi- 
can dared  eat  unformulated  mixtures,  great  mone- 
tary discussions  arose  between  this  gifted  couple 
which  were  wafted  tableward  in  due  time,  along 
with  the  very  compound  smell  of  the  cooking. 

Meanwhile,  out  at  the  hotel  proper,  the  girl 
had  drawn  up  hesitatingly. 

Since  it  may  be  disrespectful  not  to  mention 
this  edifice  separately,  we  may  say  that  it  was 

21 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

evidently  built  with  the  same  idea  of  architectural 
freedom  which  characterized  the  dining-room. 
There  were  no  ignoble  pretentions  to  it  like 
'studied  lines  or  paint.  In  fact,  the  only  way  one 
knew  it  was  the  hotel  proper  was  by  the  door  and 
a  man  within  who  was  snoring. 

Standing  forlornly  here,  staring  into  the  break- 
fast-room beyond  her,  with  increasing  (and  very 
attractive)  color,  stood  the  maiden  already  de- 
scribed. 

To  her  view,  through  the  aperture  which  mod- 
ern civilization  usually  adorns  with  a  door,  she  saw 
the  table  d'hote  of  Short's,  and  many  men  seated 
thereat,  eating.  In  fact,  so  different  the  process 
seemed  from  the  studied,  conventional  meals  of 
her  short  city  existence,  that  it  seemed,  to  her 
over-wrought  imagination  then,  that  all  these  men 
were  gobbling. 

She  was  too  new  to  frontier  life  to  know  that 
her  mere  feminine  presence  would  strike  every 
honest  one  of  them  abashed  and  dumb.  A  ter- 
rible homesickness  overcame  her.  Within  twenty 
miles  of  her  destination,  the  courage  of  its  two 
thousand  miles'  preface  melted  with  overwhelm- 
ing inconsistency.  She  felt  bold,  unwomanly,  all 
of  a  sudden.  She  thought  miserably  of  the  man 
who  had  travelled  this  long,  silent  distance  with 
her,  and  miserably  also,  as  all  at  once  she  read  what 

22 


A  Gril 

his  quiet,  presumptuously  old  eyes  had  said  each 
time  they  rested  on  her : 

"What  can  your  brother  be  thinking  of?" 
(Yes,  not  her  mother  or  father,  aunt  or  older 
sister,  but  brother !  And  I  have  to  tell  you,  she 
struck  it;  but  you  must  remember,  he  was  but 
twenty-four.) 

Unfortunately,  at  this  very  instant,  she  raised 
her  eyes,  and  she  saw  him  —  this  pedantic,  solemn- 
faced,  abominable  young  man  whom  she  hated — 
standing  before  her,  bare-headed,  as  if  he  had 
come  to  her  rescue  and  his  own  senses  at  last. 

But  her  heart  was  hot  with  wrath  (which  is  a 
lofty  name  for  mere  injured  vanity),  so  she  could 
not  stand  it  any  longer.  She  commenced  to 
speak.  Forever  after  the  advantage  of  temper- 
dignity  was  his.  (You  don't  know  how  much 
that  counts  in  the  matter,  especially  with  your 
wife.  She  may  commence  to  scold  you.  "I  told 
you  so,"  you  say.  She  may  rebel  against  your 
infallible  authority,  my  friends.  "  It  is  only  what 
I  expected,"  and  you  sigh.) 

There  is  absolutely  no  limit  to  what  you  can 
do  after  that. 

But  the  girl  did  not  know  just  at  this  moment 
that  she  might  become  the  young  stranger's  wife. 
It  was  certainly  unspeculative, —  to  an  unfeminine 
degree,  —  now  one  stops  to  think  of  it. 

But  to  go  on  — 

23 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Seated  at  proper  distances,  in  some  proper  par- 
lors, with  the  very  proper  sisters  of  some  of  his 
college  friends,  he  had  never  come  very  near  the 
little  humannesses  of  girlhood. 

Nor  had  the  women  of  his  household  assisted 
this  ignorance  of  his,  noble  as  had  been  his  ser- 
vice to  them,  —  a  mother,  his  brothers'  wives,  a 
little  niece  or  so  to  cling  to  his  finger  to  steady 
her  wandering,  wobbling  little  fancy  (located  in 
as  wobbling  little  legs)  :  were  these  fit  tutors  for 
a  man  to  profit  in  witchery  by  ? 

In  this  one  startling  onslaught  by  my  marvel- 
lously cool  little  barbarian  who  travelled  alone 
under  escort  of  the  air  of  a  princess,  the  entire 
reverence  of  a  lifetime  became  clownishness,  out- 
stripping forgiveness  to  him. 

"  Who  are  you,"  she  cried,  "  that  you  would 
not  speak  to  me  all  that  long,  long,  horrid  journey 
we  travelled  together,  and  alone  ?  I  would  not 
bite  you ;  I  am  not  a  plague.  You  would  not 
even  take  my  check  for  me.  In  cities  —  men  — 
gentlemen  —  don't  act  like  that." 

The  lofty,  disapproving,  cold  little  voice  ceased. 
The  man  within  was  still  snoring.  The  man 
outside  felt  some  castles  tumble,  —  we  call  it  feel- 
ing heart-sick,  I  believe. 

They  stood  staring  at  each  other. 

He  forbore  to  tell  her  who  he  was ;  he  over- 
looked the  instinctive  truth  within  him  that  the 

24 


A  Gul 

bites  of  women  are  as  the  balm  of  Gilead  to  men ; 
he  did  not  stoop  to  boast  he  was  from  a  city, 
the  very  greatest  one  in  her  brave,  fine  land,  —  but 
through  his  set  forgiving  lips  (remember,  she  was 
very  pretty)  came  the  abashed  mumble  of  manly 
words : 

"  Miss,"  he  commenced,  but  it  sounded  shoppy, 
so  he  said,  "  Madam,"  and  saw,  even  as  he  said 
it,  her  fair,  wondrous  skin  and  the  sweet  dawn  of 
first  life  throughout  her,  so  just  one  simple, 
straightforward,  little  line  came  from  his  shame 
and  his  wonder. 

"  I  was  only  trying  to  treat  you  as  I  should 
like  my  sister  to  be." 

They  stood  staring  straight  at  each  other  all 
over  again.  All  the  fight  (as  we  say  in  this  coun- 
try) had  gone  out  of  the  girl,  and  she  who  was 
never  at  loss  with  a  clever,  happy  opinion  on 
man,  saint,  or  devil,  had  no  apt  word  ready  for 
this  solemn  youth,  until  the  old  ball-room  rep- 
artee came  to  her,  and  she  said : 

"  Have  you  a  sister  ?  "  with  quaint,  appealing, 
almost  irresistible  coquetry. 

He  said,  "  No,"  with  a  great  calm,  almost  a 
resignation,  through  which  the  hovering  joke 
dared  not  penetrate,  possibly. 

Almost  simultaneously  her  eyes  again  encoun- 
tered the  door  of  the  dining-room  opposite ;  the 
almost  visible  clatter,  the  grotesque  hangings,  the 

25 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

gobbling  men,  and  the  great  unwholesome  morsels 
they  were  transferring  from  plate  to  self. 

In  an  instant,  the  man  was  protector.  His 
too  grave  young  face  was  now  totally  unlighted. 

"May  I  enter  the  dining-room  with  you?"  he 
asked ;  "  I  should  like  to  offer  you  my  protection." 

She  gave  a  quick  look  up  from  the  ground 
where  her  gaze  had  fallen : 

"  Did  you  intend  to  do  that  all  along  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  simply. 

Then  they  moved  on  toward  the  breakfast- 
room.  She  walked  on  beside  him  with  lowered 
eyes.  Both  were  very  pale,  very  silent,  very, 
very  sick  of  heart  at  their  recent  combat,  and  the 
foolish  fancy  that  life  ended  there,  as  well  as 
their  better  knowledge  of  each  other. 

They  were  seated  close  together,  because,  by 
some  happy  surmise,  Boston  Jim  thought  them 
man  and  wife. 


26 


ON   A   STAGE 

MR.  CAMPBELL  was  staring  straight 
ahead  of  him.  He  sat  alongside  Shorty 
on  the  stage.  I  do  not  know  on  what 
his  eyes  were  really  fastened,  but,  according  to  the 
Holy  Scripture,  all  that  even  a  prophet  or  a  king 
could  have  seen  was  a  road,  some  cactus  land,  and 
the  dust  which  no  rain  had  lain  for  three  long- 
lived  moons. 

Aware  of  the  silent  presence  of  that  girl  near, 
he  suddenly  spoke  in  a  very  loud  voice,  and  even 
more  dogmatically  than  ever.  Two  reasons  were 
involved  in  this  :  his  national  prejudice  against 
the  far-away  chirp  women  seemed  to  be  making 
for  their  mentality  and  independence ;  his  desire 
to  prove  to  his  stricken  companion  that  a  gu'l 
could  n't  tie  his  tongue.  He  laid  special  emphasis 
on  his  in  this,  and  despised  the  low-water  marks 
on  Shorty. 

His  first  remark  was  about  the  sky. 

He  was  not  looking  at  the  sky  as  he  said  it. 
None  of  the  actual  tragedy  of  the  inevitable  was 
as  yet  in  his  heavy  utterance ;  but  there  are  just 
such  occasions,  when  there  blows  on  idle  ears  the 

27 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

unheeded  foreteller  of  a  mighty  storm.  But  it  is 
a  disintegration.  This  little  gust —  we  know  not 
of  its  course  or  might.  No  more  by  the  sound 
of  his  horse's  hoofs  do  we  know  it  is  Death  who 
comes  on  his  coal-black  charger  —  and  all  praise 
to  the  God  who  made  such  things  so. 

"  This  is  a  drou't  sky,"  Campbell  said. 

It  fell  on  idle  ears,  I  say ;  as  the  couple  whom 
Boston  Jim  took  for  man  and  wife  sat  on  the 
back  seat  in  tense,  angry  silence.  Angry,  if  you 
please,  at  themselves,  at  chance,  at  creation,  so 
Shorty  alone  was  left  to  answer. 

"  Why  is  it  a  drou't  sky  ? "  he  asked,  after  a 
little  silence,  in  which  he  had  said  the  self-same 
words  over  to  see  how  they  would  sound  when 
uttered.  He  was  overwhelmed  by  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  girl's  wonderful  and  unexpected 
appearance.  His  voice  sounded  terrible  to  his 
ear  after  all ;  like  an  old  music-box  gone  ungov- 
ernable at  last,  such  a  one  as  grinds  out  only 
funeral  notes  on  a  holiday. 

"  Why  is  it  a  drou't  sky  ?  "  asked  Shorty. 

"  Because  it  is  a  drou't  sky." 

"  Who  told  you  o'  't  ? " 

Indignation  marked  Mr.  Campbell's  utterance. 
It  grew  more  husky  : 

"  No  one  told  me  o'  't,"  he  replied.  He 
raised  his  whole  remark  one  key.  Telegraph 
poles,  lean  kine,  and  great-eyed  calves  now 

28 


On  a  Stage 

appeared  on  his  range  of  vision,  but   he  made  no 
apparent  note  of  the  change  of  panorama. 

"  Do  I  need  to  be  told  o'  't  ?  "  he  went  on. 
"  Ain't  a  drou't  a  drou't  wheresoever,  —  Texas, 
hell,  or  here  ?  " 

Red  as  have  been  painted  the  festivities  enjoyed 
by  this  genus  of  ours,  the  Puncher  proper,  and 
black  as  has  been  painted  the  hue  of  his  vocabu- 
lary, which  must  fall  (so  the  fairy  books  teach)  as 
toads,  the  white  spot  which  enshrineth  women  is 
greater,  we  may  infer,  as  bespoke  the  crimson 
face  of  Mr.  Campbell  the  moment  consciousness 
descended  unto  him,  that  hell  and  its  thousand 
suburbs  was  no  fitter  subject  for  converse  with 
ladies  than  mention  of  the  saloon  at  Hope. 

"  I  ask  anybody's  pardon,"  he  said.  And  so 
all  credit  to  the  asking,  —  doggedly  humble  as 
it  was. 

"  I  ask  anybody's  pardon,  I  say,  but  when  a 
man's  seen  one  cattle  famine,  't ain't  boasting  to  say 
he  seen  them  all.  I  ain't  seen  that  darn  fool  blue 
sky  s'rene  as  some  frilled  she-devil  for  ten  years 
in  Arizona  athout  a-knowing  what  it  means." 

The  girl  in  the  rear  seat  leaned  forward.  She 
had  on  light  gloves,  and  rested  her  hands  on  the 
back  of  the  seat  behind  these  stalwart  frontiers- 
men, and  until  an  angel  steps  out  of  heaven  and 
engages  in  some  such  trifling  intimacy  with  you, 
you  won't  know  how  Campbell  and  Shorty  felt. 

29 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"What  is  a  drou't  ?  "  she  asked. 

Campbell  started  heavily  at  her  voice,  recover- 
ing himself  aggressively. 

"  It  is  cow  trails  of  bleaching  bones,"  he  com- 
menced, and  suddenly  burst  out  laughing  — 
"busted,"  he  would  have  said.  Shorty  caught 
up  on  the  chorus,  shaking  violently  with  the 
force  of  his  mirth. 

The  girl's  fair  face  and  grave  eyes  were  a  sort 
of  civilized  protest  against  the  sound.  She  lost 
the  cause  altogether : 

"  Whose  bones  ?  "  she  asked. 

Shorty  clapped  his  knees  and  roared  louder 
than  ever.  Campbell  stopped  laughing  a  second 
or  so,  long  enough  to  say  this  sentence. 

"  Cow-bones,  calf-bones,  steer-bones,"  he  sput- 
tered. 

Then  went  off  again. 

The  girl  kept  her  head  well  forward,  so  the 
man  in  the  back  seat  could  not  see  her  eyes. 
They  had  grown  dark  of  a  sudden  with  tears. 
She  did  not  understand  the  great  crude  faults  of 
this  bleak  frontier  land.  She  was  worn  out  with 
travelling.  She  was  young  and  a  gu'l. 

There  was  a  miserably  sympathetic  desolation 
in  Mr.  Campbell's  "cows'-bones  "  and  "calves'- 
bones  "  to  her.  She  did  not  know  what  a  steer 
was.  Thus,  with  no  better  explanation  of  it,  this 
drying  up  of  a  great  country  became  inexorably 

3° 


On  a  Stage 

associated  with  her  entrance  therein.  She  never 
got  over  the  first  sickening  reality  of  it.  There 
was  no  hospitality  to  her  welcome  from  nature, 
man,  or  God. 

Mr.  Campbell  was  unaware  of  this.  He 
thought  he  was  some  one.  It  is  a  common 
mistake. 

"  I  have  seed  this  same  land  of  ours  dry 's  it 
choked  you  to  see  it.  Them  mountains  yeller 
like  with  a  fever ;  the  cattle  dropping  thr'out  a 
herd  in  sixes."  He  gave  another  great  laugh. 
It  was  very  funny. 

"  The  little  chap  at  Weffold's  ud  probably  call 
it  having  plenty  of  milk  in  Heaven  that  year. 
He  is  a  great  kid,  that  un.  Bax  had  him  down 
to  the  c'ral  one  day,  while  they  was  a-shooting 
some  steers  fur  market.  Suddenly  he  burst  out 
crying,  and  Bax  quietVd  him  that  way.  The 
fatherhood,  no  doubt,  makes  the  tricks  easy ; 
but  Bax  is  a  fool  over  that  child." 

"  'T  ain't  neither,"  contradicted  Shorty,  huskily ; 
"  the  child  loves  Bax  likes  he 's  God  A'mighty." 

"  Spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child,"  snapped 
Campbell,  readily.  It  was  the  only  thing  he 
could  think  of  just  then.  May  be  he  meant  it. 
He  was  a  Britisher  and  childless,  so  he  believed 
the  Good  Book  as  yet. 

The  girl  settled  back  in  her  seat.  The  tear 
had  fallen,  so  she  did  not  care. 

3* 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  Who  is  Bax  ?  "  she  asked,  almost  without 
interest. 

Mr.  Campbell  gained  afresh  in  importance  : 

"  Son  to  old  Weffold,"  he  said,  while  Shorty 
came  in  like  a  glad  duet  from  which  shyness  was 
gone  by  its  own  high  grade  of  inspiration  : 

"He's  th'  whites'  man  in  Arizona  —  Bax  —  " 

"Bax  WefFokTs  all  ri1,"  continued  Mr. 
Campbell,  speaking  belligerently,  through  feeling 
he  had  been  outdone. 

"  Bax  is  all  ri',"  said  Shorty  again,  touching 
up  his  horses  as  he  did  so.  They  passed  a  past- 
ure line  just  then.  It  came  to  the  very  road 
like  a  sleeping  dog  which  would  like  to  stretch 
across  if  it  might.  It  ran  off  far  as  human  eye 
could  reach. 

"It  is  old  Carl's  — he  is  Bax's  father."  Mr. 
Campbell  went  back  to  his  solemn  jokes.  He  pre- 
faced them  by  the  same  loud  laughter.  "  Old  Carl 
Weffold  is  's  unlike  Bax  as  two  peas  can  be.  He 
is  a  corker.  There  is  common  saying  goes 
around  periodical-like  'z  whiskey  among  the 
mine  men,  that  there 's  only  one  man  besides  the 
old  Boy  prospers  all  time  in  Arizony.  It  is 
Maj'r  Carl  hisself.  And  even  this  is  disputed  as 
proper  by  a  supposition  as  is  common  in  Hope 
and  there'bouts,  that  he  and  the  old  Boy  is 
one/' 

At  this,  without  any  preparation,  the  girl  clapped 
32 


On  a  Stage 

her  hands,  as  if  she  heard  a  mot  in  a  theatre. 
During  this  performance,  she  chanced  to  catch 
the  eyes  of  her  new  neighbor.  She  stared  back 
hostilely  a  second.  Then,  to  her  intense  anger, 
she  began  to  turn  crimson. 

At  this  he  dropped  his  eyes. 

Mr.  Campbell  and  Shorty  (whose  real  and 
long-forgotten  name  was  Jones,  Mr.  Jones,  if 
you  please,  and  it  may  have  even  been  Jones 
Jones)  did  not  see  this,  so  continued  their  conver- 
sation innocently. 

"  There  ain't  a  man  in  Hope  can  tell  more 
of  the  Weffold  household  than  Shorty  here  ; " 
this  was  from  Mr.  Campbell,  justly  proud  of 
his  friend. 

Shorty  switched  around  in  his  seat  ever  so  little. 
It  was  his  only  response  to  this  compliment.  The 
girl  could  now  see  one  entire  ear,  and  that  only  ; 
but  she  knew  that  she  was  honorable  audience  to 
this  narrative.  The  strange  man  aboard  was 
ignored,  forgotten.  He  was  some  mining  fellow, 
no  doubt,  —  a  transient  expert  sent  by  some  of 
those  Eastern  vultures  who  hovered  from  time 
to  time  over  that  big  treasure-hole  at  Hope ; 
and  these  foolish  fellows  were  properly  despised 
by  the  real  population,  —  they  who  had  full  liter- 
ally shouldered  their  rude  huts  and  their  empty 
larders  to  go  to  this  fabulous  find  of  Dick  Gar- 

D 

net 's  when  it  had  become  bruited  abroad  the  few 
3  33 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

years   before  —  for  the   boom   had  just  dropped 

out  of  T that  year.     For  the  great  mine  and 

its  kindly  owner  were  under  the  protection  of  this 
jealousy  at  last,  —  the  certain  vague  gratitude 
and  possession  we  all  feel  toward  the  oven  which 
bakes  our  bread.  Even  now  and  then,  through 
Shorty's  story,  he  said,  "  G'  up"  to  his  horses 
breathlessly.  The  girl  leaned  back  and  listened. 
After  a  while  his  involved  interruptions  became 
part  and  parcel  of  the  tale. 

"  Thirty  'd  years  ago  I  fust  stepped  my  foot  in 
Arizona.  It  war  n't  pr'meditated  —  the  step.  My 
brother'd  skipped  cross  the  line  here  fur  sumthin' 
—  fur  —  that 's  neither  here  nor  there.  That  was 
the  summer  or  so  before,  and  then  some  one  got 
wind  of  his  whereabouts  at  home.  Texas  —  was 
the  place.  I  heard  the  hue  and  cry  they  wuz  rais- 
ing, and  blood  's  thicker  nor  water,  so  I  came  West. 

I  heard  news  of  Joe  in  T .     The  sheriff  was 

a-hounding  him  down.  There  had  been  a  fuss 
that  year  over  outlaw  immigration,  so  he  war  n't 
so  much  to  blame  as  you  think.  I  wanted  pretty 
hard  to  find  him,  for  the  old  woman's  sake.  She 
was  jes'  dead,  and  lef  Joe  and  me  a  few  hundred 
dollars,  —  enough  to  get  him  out  of  the  country 
and  a-start  again.  I  was  more  'n  willin'  to  give 
Joe  my  share ;  but  it  was  hard  work  tracin'  him, 
and  y'  can  imagine  my  feelings  when  I  found  out 
this  way  one  night.  It  was  late,  and  I  dropped  into 

34 


On  a  Stage 

the  telegraph  office  to  have  a  chat  fur  a  bit,  and 
when  I  was  sitting  there,  there  came  a  message 
from  next  station  up  the  line.  They  'd  seen  him 
pass,  headin'  fur  Maj'r  Weffold's.  I  was  only  a 
young  fellar,  and  when  I  jumped  on  a  horse  soon 
after  and  faced  a  road  I  know'd  nothin'  of,  with 
no  head-start  of  a  thorough-bred  posse,  I  felt  like 
I  wanted  to  cry  —  the  fight  wasn't  beat'n  in  yet 
—  often  wonder  if  soldiers  feel  the  same  —  mor'  'n 
likely,  but  never  tell. 

"  After  a  mile  or  so  I  fell  in  with  the  very 
posse,  —  the  fellows  who  was  after  Joe's  life.  We 
rode  together.  Oncet  they  started  to  laff,  think- 
ing of  the  joke  they  had  on  the  —  fool  of  a  ten- 
derfoot murderer — I  didn't  mean  to  tell  what 
it  was  —  self-defence  and  drinking.  He  thought 
to  get  over  the  border ;  it  seems,  did  n'  know  old 
Weffold.  He  'd  shelter  no  one,  and  less  fur 
stealing  a  horse.  He  might's  well  faced  the 
music  in  T 

"  Gawd,  how  a  fellar  thinks  of  the  time  him  and 
his  brother 's  been  little  in  a  time  like  that. 

c<  I  have  nothin'  agin  the  cow-boys.  After  mid- 
night, an  hour  or  so,  they  found  out  his  relation 
to  me  —  I  let  it  fall  a-defendin'  him,  and  they 
was  bound'n  to  do  their  duty,  but  offered  to  give 
me  a  head-start  on  them  by  a  shorter  road. 

"  But  I  was  afraid  to  lose  my  way,  and  we  all 
came  in  sight  of  the  ranch  house  together.  It 

35 


was  day-break  just.  I  've  often  thought  of  how 
we  must  'a'  looked.  Old  Maj'r  —  he  wer' n't 
old  Maj'r  then  —  was  on  the  porch  a-waitin'  of 
us.  I  rec'lect  his  throwing  out  his  hand,  his 
eyes  like  steel  and  his  back  like  a  poker. 

" f  You  might  as  well  go  back/  he  said,  *  the 
fellar  got  over  the  border  after  all.'  And  then 
the  old  cuss  had  to  put  in :  f  'T  was  on  Mrs. 
Wefolfs  mare.' 

"  She  came  out  of  the  house  at  that.  She  had  on 
a  slimsy  white  thing  like  women  wears  sometimes, 
and  she  carried  a  little  fellow  clost  to  her.  Bax 
it  was,  as  I  knowed  later.  The  kid  was  a- 
laughin' . 

"  *  Gentlemen,'  she  said,  f  can  you  blame  me  ? 
I  am  a  mother.' 

"  I  rec'lect  like  falling  on  my  knees,  blubber- 
ing like  a  fool  'n'  a  woman  all  to  onct,  and  then 
one  fellow  holdin'  his  flask  to  me. 

"An'  — an'  — Gawd!  — 

"  After  that  she  told  me  how  it  was.  Joe  had 
ridden  up  the  prev'us  evening,  and  the  Maj'r  had 
d'vined  who  he  was.  And  she  saved  Joe.  When- 
ever I  look  at  Bax,  I  r'member  his  mother.  She 
run  the  Maj'r  pretty  much  those  days,  —  the 
only  person  as  ever  done  it,  Seems  's  they  'd  had 
a  hard  tussle,  but  she  won.  And  for  a  stranger — 
a  fellow  not  fit  in  ed'cation  or  appearance  to  latch 

36 


On  a  Stage 

her  shoestring  even,  f  on  account  of  Bax.'  They 
let  me  stay  on  after.  I  made  myself  useful,  and 
any  man  'd  been  a  dog  fur  her. 

"  Bax  uster  crawl  over  my  shoulder,  —  a  little, 
flax-headed,  lovable  son-of-a-gun.  Then  I  fo't 
with  the  Maj'r.  It  came  about  unexpected  one 
day,  'n'  I  left  Weffold's.  Last  time  I  seen  her — 
Never  knowed  but  whole  thing  'd  blo'n  over,  and 
I  could  sneak  back  fur  a  look  sometimes  at  her. 
But  when  I  did,  she  was  dead. 

"  It  was  years  later.  Bax  must  a-been  in  his 
twenties  then,  when  I  wandered  into  the  Talent 
Ranch  one  night.  I  was  tired  and  hungry,  and 
it  was  stormin'  outside.  I  was  working  for  the 
Copper  Co.  then.  Them  and  the  Talent  fellows 
got  a  gredge  agin  each  other,  which  is  natural-like 
in  a  way  ;  but  they  treated  me  all  right  that  night, 
only  the  gredge  was  there.  Then,  in  the  mornin', 
twenty  dollars  was  missing  from  one  of  them.  I 
did  not  tumble  at  first.  Then  there  was  growl- 
ings  and  lockings  around,  and  I  knowed  I  was 
suspected.  I  tried  to  keep  cool.  'T  war  n't  so 
much  the  twenty  dollars,  as  the  gredge,  I  guess. 
Still  none  a  'em  knowed  anything  o*  me,  and  it 
was  nat'ral-like.  At  last  I  went  out  to  get  my 
money,  and  a  fellow  fell  on  me  with  hot  words. 
I  felt  for  my  six-shooter,  and  in  a  second  he 
clapped  out  his.  But  before  either  fired,  some- 
thin'  happened,  —  a  fellow  jumped  off  a  horse 

37 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

near.     He   made  straight  for   my    'ponent,   and 
struck  the  pistol  out  'f  his  hand. 

" £  Dan,  don't  be  a  fool,'  he  said,  —  them  was  his 
words,  and  them  only.  I  was  too  excited  to  see 
who  it  was  ;  but  soon  's  he  heard  my  story,  a  sort 
of  queer  flush  came  to  his  face.  I  liked  him  for 
it.  'T  was  such  a  feeling  's  a  good  man  kin  give 
his  fellows  's  well  's  hissen. 

"  He  just  said, £  Wait  a  minute.'  We  followed 
him  into  the  hall,  and  from  room  to  room,  while 
he  rummaged  for  something.  Presently  he 
turned  over  each  sep'rate  blanket,  an*  dragged 
at  an  old  ragged  quilt,  wher'  the  fellow  'd  lost  his 
twenty  'd  been  sleeping.  Presently,  during  a 
shaking,  it  rolled  out. 

"  None  of  us  'd  thought  of  rummaging  before, 
and,  in  the  embarrassment  afterward,  they  laffed 
and  called  it  the  £  Dutch '  in  him. 

"  Even  then  I  never  guessed.  Only  after  we 
ud  gone  out  into  the  open,  and  I  had  a  good 
look  inter  the  fellar's  eyes.  They  was  gray  and 
deep  as  the  clear  mornings  of  winter,  as  if  they 
was  a  storm  in  'em  too,  an'  his  hair  was  heavy 
and  sad  like  flax  with  the  gold  outer' n  it. 

"  I  don't  know  how  I  gave  myse'f  away : 

"  f  Gawd,'  I  cried,  <  Gawd  — ' 

"  He  held  out  his  hand  and  smiled  —  never 
smiled  much,  but  ek'lled  two  ord'nary  ones 
when  't  happened. 

38 


On  a  Stage 

(<<  No  one  could  say  "  Gawd"  like  you,  'thout 
'was  your  own  se'f,  Shorty,'  —  them  or  like  words, 
he  said. 

"'T  war  Bax,  o'  course'n,  if  you  had  n't  guessed. 
It  seems  the  old  man  was  off'n  somewheres,  and 
Bax  was  a-running  Weffold's  them  days.  We 
rode  over  to  the  Copper  Co.  together,  and  I 
broke  with  'em  then  and  there.  Bax  was  used 
to  long  rides,  and  on  the  way  I  gleaned  he  was 
none  too  happy  from  his  look  and  his  way ;  and 
when  I  r'membered  'bout  his  mother,  and  how 
she  'n  him  been  sich  insep'rable  companions, 
why — tumbl'd  like  t' what  'twas.  When  he'd 
been  a  little  chap,  sich  as  most  men  ud  been 
proud  to  clap  eyes  on  as  own  kid  of  their'n,  it 
was  common  talk  around  'at  the  Maj'r  was  jealous 
of  his  wife's  love  for  the  young  un  —  unnat'ral, 
as  it  may  seem  — 

"  Never  touched  him  or  talked  to  the  little 
chap  lovin'-like,  as  parents  will. 

"  Bax  offered  me  the  job  at  once.  A  round-up 
was  on,  and  they  was  short-handed  too.  That 
had  taken  him  to  Talent  that  day.  Fellow  so 
'noc'lated  with  the  Weffold's  was  darn  glad 
'nough  to  go. 

"  Had  n't  been  there  two  days  when  heard  all 
about  state  of  affairs  from  the  boys.  Seem's  Bax'd 
been  sent  to  college  East,  and  got  a  fine  sort  of 
ed'cation  —  could  tell  that  to  look  on  him," 

39 


Shorty  stopped  his  narrative  breathlessly.  It 
had  become  a  physical  necessity,  but  he  did  not 
see  it. 

"  Cam'll,"  he  said,  "  what  do  you  think  of 
Bax  Weffold,  Arizona  bred,  agin  those  darn-fool 
fashion-patterns  of  experts  from  East  ?  " 

The  young  fellow  in  the  back  seat  fell  back  so 
the  girl  could  not  see  him.  He  had  no  con- 
ception of  the  ideal  pictured,  but  felt  almost  a 
criminal  shame  of  his  own  white  hands  and  trim 
clothes. 

"  Bax  's  all  ri',"  returned  Mr.  Campbell. 
That  was  all. 

"  When  Bax  was  East,  so  the  story  goes,  he 
met  a  gu'l.  They  allus  set  great  stock  on  that. 
She  was  a  mere  little  thing  at  school,  and  they 
fell  in  love  with  each  other  —  only  never  knowed 
it.  Don't  know  much  of  them  things  my  sen — 
but  Mees  Bax  allus  said  that.  (Mees  Bax  as  she 
is  now.) 

"  Then  for  six  or  seven  years  never  seen  each 
other.  When  it  come  autumn  the  old  Maj'r 
asked  some  folks  from  some  Springs  wher'  he  'd 
been  down  fur  a  month  or  so.  An'  Bax's  girl 
was  one  on  them.  I  r'member  the  night  they 
come,  and  how  Bax  rode  up  while  they  was  a- 
gettin'  out  the  cerriage.  He  was  always  civil  and 
hospit'ble-like  to  the  Maj'r's  guests — from  sheer 
duty  —  a  great  one  on  duty  —  Bax. 

4o 


On  a  Stage 

"  As  he  cum  inter  the  inner  yard  from  the 
c'rals,  his  hat  came  off,  fur  he  seen  it  was  ladies, 
and  as  he  fell  offer'n  his  horse  to  ground  I 
never  seen  a  better  puncher  fur  a  city-bred  girl 
to  get  stuck  on.  She  was  a  tall,  pretty,  spick, 
young  thing,  'bout  twenty  or  thereabouts,  most 
likely  —  and  spirited  as  'n  untamed  colt. 

"  But  some  way  when  her  hand  fust  went  into 
hissen,  it  all  went  out  her  sudden-like.  She 
looked  hard  and  sweet  a  minute  full  at  him,  and 
we  all  knowed  athout  the  telling,  Bax  Weffold  ud 
foun'  his  wife. 

"  And  they  went  on  that  way  for  'while.  Some- 
times when  we  fellows  on  the  hacienda  was  riding 
miles  away,  after  some  of  our  brand  as  'd  strayed 
away,  we  'd  see  them  two,  and  when  Bax's  face 
lost  that  dark,  quiet  look  like  an  old  man  in 
young  image,  I  don't  know  who  was  gladder, 
him  or  us.  And  when  he  furgot  to  eat  three 
meals  a  day,  athout  seeming  to  feel  it,  there  was 
the  rollickinest  crowd  of  punchers  at  Weffold's 
as  ever  a  ranch  held  for  awhile.  But  he  never 
minded  no  innocent  josh  —  did  n't  Bax. 

"  Then  all  of  a  sudden  everything  changed. 
The  gu'l  went  home,  and  there  was  n't  even  let- 
ters. We  thought  at  first  she  give  him  the  jilt, 
and  if  ever  a  woman  was  'lowed  to  be  hated  in 
Arizona,  that  slim,  slip  of  an  airy  thing  was. 

"Then  some  way,  athout  any  actual  foundation 
41 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

for  it,  we  knowed  it  was  the  Maj'r  hissen.  He 
hated  his  own  boy  —  might  as  well  not  beat 
around  the  bush,  and  when  he  saw  how  things  'd 
turned,  he  showed  it  in  a  thousand  despic'ble 
ways,  an'  the  gu'l  had  left  Bax,  rather  'n  be  un- 
welcome. She  was  always  a  might  too  proud. 

"  Once,  Bax,  he  said  to  me  :  '  Shorty,  sep'ra- 
tions  are  often  give  us  to  learn  to  know  each 
other  better,  to  think  out  the  differences,  as  it 
were.'  I  don't  know  if  he  heard  or  read  it,  or 
how  he  come  to  blurt  it  out  to  me ;  but  we  all 
a-knowed  he  was  a-thinking  about  the  gu'l,  and 
Bax  was  always  kind  to  dumb  things  and  sufferin' 
creatures,  but  I  seen  him  do  things  those  times 
as  'd  tax  a  saint  to  think  of;  fur  no  man  ud 
think  'em  worth  while,  —  like  staying  up  all  night 
with  a  sick  horse,  or  travelling  twenty  miles  to 
save  some  whimperin'  dog,  and  keepin'  some 
Mexican  loafer's  family  in  beef  a  whole  winter 
or  more  because  the  woman  had  a  new  brat  to 
nurse. 

"  They  say  two  people  can't  go  on  so  loving 
each  other  athout  coming  together  some  day,  and 
I  guess  there  's  some  truth  to  it. 

"  One  day  the  Maj'r  got  a  letter —  I  tuk  it  to 
him  mysel'.  I  seen  him  break  the  seal  and  read 
it.  It  was  on  the  closed-in  porch.  Bax  was 
a-lying  on  the  couch  in  the  corner.  He  did  n't 
see  nothing.  His  eyes  was  closed,  and  I  see  the 

42 


On  a  Stage 

dark  look  deeper  'n  ever  on  them,  and  that  cloud 
like  night  forever  on  his  brow. 

"  I  was  a-fillin'  the  ollas  while  the  Maj'r  read. 
I  seen  it  was  a  woman's  handwritin',  like  Sal, 
my  sister,  writ,  only  finer  and  freer-like ;  and 
when  the  Maj'r  finished  that  letter,  he  read  it 
over,  and  then  agin,  and  then  he  folded  it  up 
prim-like,  after  his  way,  each  corner  fittin'. 

"And  then  he  threw  his  head  back  and  closed 
his  eyes  also,  as  if  a  thousand  devils  was  a-s'r- 
roundin'  him,  and  he  never  flinchin'. 

"  And  then  I  left  them  two  together.  I  never 
said  a  word  to  the  boys,  but  I  knowed  some  way 
it  'd  decide  Bax's  future,  for  the  old  Boy  had  a 
look  on  his  face  of  his  wife  —  and  Bax  was  to 
win  or  lose  by  the  tussle. 

"That  night  when  I  came  home  at  milkin' 
time,  Bax  was  standing  by  the  gate  with  's 
mustang  alongside  him.  He  was  so  still  as  I 
came  near  he  might  have  been  carv'n,  and  there 
was  a  look  on  his  face  quiet,  yet  glad-like, 
sam'  's  religion. 

"  c  Shorty,'  he  said,  c  I  've  been  waitin'  to  say 
good-bye  to  you,  my  friend  '  —  them  same  words. 

"  I  did  n't  know  what  to  say  to  him,  so  I  filled- 
up-like  for  some  cause. 

"  *  Shorty,  you  fool,'  he  said,  c  I  am  going  to 
be  married  at  last.  The  Maj'r  has  come  around.' 

"  I  blazed  up  at  that  some  way.  It  sounded 
43 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

tyrann'cal-like,  and  for  him  of  all  others  to  stand 
it.  And  he  seen  the  way  I  felt. 

"  *  You  Ve  been  blamin'  me,  Shorty,'  he  says, 
quiet-like,  yet  sure-voiced  and  gentle. 

"  '  Yes,'  says  I,  <  yes,  Bax,  if  you  will.'  " 

"  Then  I  saw  he  went  bareheaded. 

"  c  I  knowed  it  all  along,'  said  Bax  ;  c  but  I  did 
not  blame  you  —  only  —  there  was  my  mother, 
you  see,  and  she  had  died  holding  his  hand  and 
my  hand,  and  asking  that  we  have  peace.  I  am 
his  son,  Shorty,  remember  that.  And  even  before 
she  was  cold  on  that  bed,  we  was  a-glaring  hate 
at  each  other. 

" '  It  was  a  miserable  pretence  afterward.'  (He 
left  out  the  love  part  altogether,  as  if  we  under- 
stood it.) 

"  '  And  to-day,'  he  said,  'she  wrote  — ' 

He  looked  quizzical-like  down  at  me. 

" f  And  you  Ve  been  blaming  her,  too,  Shorty  ? ' 
he  said. 

"  There  was  n't  nothin'  to  say  to  him,  as  war  n't 
seen  on  my  face. 

" '  She  had  been  to  a  ball  that  night,  you  see, 
and  when  she  went  home,  she  wrote  to  the 
Maj'r.'  And  at  that  his  head  went  down  sudden- 
like  on  the  top  of  his  saddle,  and  he  cried  out 
like  these  words,  '  My  true  dear  girl.' 

"  And  then  I  reached  out  and  took  his  hand 
—  friends  understand  sich  things  athout  long 

44 


On  a  Stage 

explanations.  Not  saying  was  the  same  's  if  he  'd 
said  to  me  for  his  defence,  as  it  were,  f  I  could  n't 
crucify  her,  Shorty,'  or  for  hers :  '  The  while  she 
was  proud,  her  heart  was  breaking.' 

"  So  Bax  rode  off  in  the  night,  and  I  came 
's  near  blubbering  at  WefFold  that  evening  as  I  'd 
ever  done  since  the  day  he  was  little  Bax,  a-laugh- 
in'  tender-like  in  his  mother's  arms. 

"  There  was  a  barbecue  in  the  whole  country 
the  night  Bax  brought  home  his  wife,  and  under 
the  excitement  and  compliment  of  it  the  old 
Maj'r  was  Chesterfield  himself,  as  Boston  Jim 
calls  it. 

"  And  he  behaved  all  right  for  a  while,  but  so 
condescending-like  to  their  contentment  over 
being  together  as  made  my  blood  bile  fur  'em, 
and  tuk  all  away  from  his  giving  in. 

"Then  he  changed  like  a  flash  of  a  suddent.  It 
was  jest  four  years  ago,  —  big  drou't  time, —  no 
one  ever  knowed  what  caused  the  Maj'r's  manner, 
and  some  laid  it  to  the  drou't;  but  I  seen  the  in- 
justice of  it,  as  the  poor  girl  was  ailing-like. 
One's  heart  ached  for  her,  but  she  never  said  no 
word  of  complaint,  and  Bax,  he  suffered  as  well, 
I  guess,  over  the  Maj'r's  infernal  meanness  at 
jes'  this  time.  Then  one  day  the  heat  came  to 
climax-like  itself.  Things  wilted-like  in  the  sun, 
and  great  herds  of  crazy  cattle  swept  up  from  the 

45 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

surrounding  country  to  the  smell  of  water  in  the 
tanks  and  troughs.     But  we  all  knew  our  orders, 

—  no  cattle  was  to  be  let  in  the  big  gates  but 
our  own ;  so  we  men  went  back  so  's  not  to  see 
it.     It  was  a  sickenin'  sight.     Some  dropped  out- 
side of  Weffold's,  and  some  poor  things  tried  to 
jump  the  fence,  and  got  torn  and  hurt  on  the 
wires. 

"  Old  Maj'r,  he  walked  out  once  and  smiled, 
looking  it  all  over: 

"  c  Ef  the  dogs  want  to  pay  for  their  meat  being 
saved,  we  '11  save  it  for  them,'  he  said ;  c  ten  cents 
a  night  for  pasture,  and  proper  rates  for  pumping 
through  a  pipe  line.' 

"  Sal  told  me  this  story,  —  she  is  my  sister, 
who  married  Joe  Dillon  —  know,  Joe,  Cam'll  ?  " 

Mr.  Campbell  enjoyed  this.  He  laughed  afar 
off,  somewhere  in  his  heavy  shoes. 

"  Have  good  occasion  to  remember  Joe  Dillon 

—  liked  to  thrash  him  into  a  jelly  one  night  at 
Howell's  on  a  party,  for  stealing  my  horse  to  take 
Bet  Johnson  home.     Left  me  rather  too  much 
tat-a-ta   with    that    spare-ribbed    dorta    'f    Foxy 
McLennan's  who  's  been  trying  to  marry  every 
Copper  puncher  for  this  ten  years  or  more  —  " 

Shorty  burst  out  laughing.  Reaction  over  his 
late  narration  aided  this.  He  fairly  rolled  and 
ha-haed,  then  he  gathered  himself  together. 

"  I  must  tell  that  to  Sal,"  he  said.  "  Lord,  how 
46 


On  a  Stage 

she  '11  josh  Joe  about  it."  Then  he  continued 
Bax's  little  tragedy. 

"  Sal,  she  was  washing  that  day  at  Weffold's." 
He  looked  shamefaced,  then  went  on,  "  Us  fel- 
lars  had  to  let  her  do  it;  Joe  war  n't  working  to 
speak  of,  —  sprained  his  knee  that  summer, — 
and  Sal  is  that  headstrong. 

"  She  describes  it  pretty  c'rect.  When  the 
cows  was  making  the  bigges'  rumpus,  she  said, 
young  Mees  Bax  gave  a  cry,  and  jumped  up  from 
the  chair.  She  was  a  sick,  poor  thing,  and  not 
used  to  frontier  life  like,  and  she  never  could 
endure  sufferin'.  Her  hair  was  down,  and  she  'd 
been  crying,  and  in  that  way  she  rushed  to  the 
door.  Bax  stood  jus'  outside  with  his  father. 
She  run  out,  and  he  went  to  her ;  but  before  any 
one  knowed  what  was  to  happen,  she  'd  dropped 
her  baby  airs  and  looked,  Sal  said,  for  all  the 
world  like  a  queen  in  some  fancy  story.  Mean- 
while, her  eyes  blazed  so,  Sal  said,  the  Maj'r 
stepped  back  as  if  struck. 

"  *  Bax,'  she  cried,  f  throw  those  gates  open  ! ' 
and,  as  he  stood  still  for  a  second,  she  cried : 

"  *  For  me,  my  husband  ! ' 

"And  Bax  went. " 


47 


COALS   TO   NEWCASTLE 

"A   •   AHERE  was  only  one  outcome  to  it  all. 

Sal    said  the  girl    re'lized  it   right  at 

-*-       once,  she  thought,  for  she  waited  for 

him  to  come  back  to  her  after  the  cattle  'd  rushed 

in.     Her  face  was  white,  and  she  threw  her  arms 

around  him. 

" c  Are  you  sorry y  Bax  ? '  she  asked . 

"  Sal  said  they  was  a  pretty  sight.  He  had  one 
o'  them  tender  smiles  on  his  face,  set-like  and 
queer  and  dreamy,  and  then  he  stooped  down  and 
kissed  her. 

"  c  No,'  he  said  ;  £  no,  little  woman;  I  have  been 
very  thirsty  myself.' 

"  I  think  the  Maj'r's  hate  got  fixed  at  that 
moment. 

"  '  You  can  go,'  he  said  to  Bax ;  f  and  for  good 
—  both  of  you,  and  you  can  take  your  mother's 
share,  if  you  want.' 

"  Bax  turned  sudden-like,  as  if  he  'd  been  shot, 
and  had  n't  minded,  but  that  probbing  for  the 
bullet  hurt. 

"  '  We  '11  leave  my  mother's  name  out  of  this,' 
he  said.  » 

48 


Coals  to  Newcastle 

"And  then  they  went  in  and  off  that  evening 
to  San  Francisco.  Bax  wrote — she  could  not 
bear  to  see  her  people,  and  then  two  weeks  later 
a  kid  was  born.  They  called  him  Johann  Carl 
Felix  Weffold."  He  gave  this  almost  apolo- 
getically, as  if  he  longed  to  say,  in  supplement 
to  it,  "  Mees  Bax  was  not  quite  herself  at  the 
time." 

"  The  Johann  Carl  was  fer  the  Maj'r,  and  the 
Felix  fer  sich-like  on  hern  side,  I  guess." 

Here  the  girl  on  the  back  seat  laughed  a  little. 
She  only  knew  why. 

"  When  the  Express  printed  it  in  full,  there  was 
a  sort  of  general  cel'bration  in  this  part  of  the 
ter'tory.  If  it  'd  been  a  cheer,  Bax  'd  heard  it 
in  San  Francisco.  Bill  Jennin's  got  drunk  at 
once,  same  as  't  been  his  own,  and  at  the  round- 
up next  day,  a  hundred  calves  were  branded  for 
the  little  stranger,  —  his  daddy  was  so  well 
thought  on. 

"  Then  Dick  Garnet  struck  his  mine,  and  no  one 
had  time  to  think  of  Bax  Weffold,  —  the  new 
people  was  interested  in  each  other  and  gettin' 
settled  down  —  old  Carl  coined  money,  and  when 
the  road  opened  a  station  at  Short's,  he  give  me 
the  chance  of  this  position  —  stage  and  all. 
Sometimes  I  think  it  was  a-meant  towards  Bax, 
knowin'  how  fond  I  'd  always  a-been  of  him. 

"  But  there  was  lots  of  travel,  and  it  kept  me 
4  49 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

held,  until  last  year  I  heard  Bax  'd  broken  down 
and  was  sick.  I  got  off  for  a  bit,  and  went  to 
'Frisco.  I  Ve  never  been  a  father,  and  I  never 
knowed  how  it  was  to  feel  like  one. 

"  G'  up  —  g'  up  — 

"  But  I  think  I  knowed  kind  o'  how  it  might 
be  when  I  went  inter  the  room  where  Bax  was. 
He  was  the  wastedest  fellar  I  ever  seen.  He  'd 
been  sick ;  she  'd  been  sick ;  and  then  work  be- 
tween, and  the  fogs  and  the  low  wages,  and  then 
his  breaking  down  under  it  all  —  and  she  was  a- 
sewing  for  them.  And  the  little  fellar  knowed 
enough  to  smile  and  to  kiss  me  when  Bax  said, 
f  It  is  Shorty,  Don,'  for  that  was  the  best  good 
his  big  name  done  him. 

"  Then  she  come  in,  and  I  seen  the  same  girl, 
only  with  changes  on  her,  for  all  she  tried  to  be 
brave  and  spirky-like  — 

"  *  Well,  this  ain't  so  big  as  the  Ranch,  is  it, 
Shorty?  —  but  I  don't  know  but  that  it  has  its 
advantages  fur  us.  At  any  rate  we  can't  get  lost 
—  can  we  ? '  and  she  gave  Bax  a  regular  old 
chiricahua1  look. 

"  And  she  kep'  this  up  for  a  while,  until  once, 
when  Bax  was  talking,  I  seen  she  'd  turned  her 
back  from  him,  and  I  knowed  there  was  tears  in 
her  eyes,  and  as  Bax  talked  I  knowed  his  heart 
was  a  sickening  after  his  own  land,  and  his  dumb 

1  A  mountain  range. 
5° 


Coals  to  Newcastle 

things,  and  his  place  among  us  once  agin,  if  only 
to  die  in  it. 

"  And  the  money  I  gin  him  that  night  was  his 
own,  —  every  cent  should  have  had  Weffold 
marked  on  it;  and  I  went  back  to  Hope  next 
week  more  'n  determined  to  face  the  Maj'r  down 
in  his  devilishness  toward  his  own  flesh  and  blood, 
but  before  I  got  further  'n  the  intention,  it  was 
taken  outer'n  my  hands  into  better  ones.  Dick 
Garnet,  who  found  the  mine,  and  his  family  were 
making  their  yearly  visit  then,  and  went  out  my 
fust  trip  with  me,  and  we  was  riding  sober  along 
like  this  through  this  very  country  when,  suddenly, 
afore  I  knowed  it,  I  found  mysel'  telling  Bax's 
story  to  all  of  them. 

"  And  the  lady,  she  burst  out  crying,  and  she  said 
to  him, f  Dick,  if  you  don't  do  something  for  those 
poor,  unhappy  creatures,  I  '11  leave  you  sure/ ' 

At  this,  and  for  the  first  time  during  the  narra- 
tion, the  young  man  (suspected  of  being  a  college 
expert)  laughed  suddenly  himself.  It  was  the 
full,  still  boyish  merriment  of  one  not  easily 
moved  to  gladness,  and  caused  the  girl  next  to 
him  to  jump  suddenly  ;  at  which  he  became  very 
conscious  of  his  own  strangeness,  and  glared  back 
at  her  quite  as  stonily  as  ever  she  could  wish. 

"Two  weeks  after  then,  Billy  Simpkins,  who 
runs  the  Post  Office  at  Hope,  told  me  suthin', — 

5r 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

a  letter  had  gone  out  to  Bax  Weffold  in  the  Maj'r's 
writing,  —  and  then  they  all  come  down,  and 
Gawd 's  patching  from  day  to  day  of  their  rents 
and  their  humors  since  then." 

The  old  fellow  switched  full  around  again. 
His  story  was  still  unfinished,  and  his  heart  was 
sore. 

Mr.  Campbell  now  took  up  the  conversation, 
prefacing  this  procedure  by  a  greater  fixity  of 
gaze: 

"  I,  fur  one,  mistrust  Bax's  wisdom  in  having 
come  —  " 

Shorty  could  stand  no  more  of  it : 

"  Shut  up,"  he  snapped. 

They  rode  on  a  while  in  silence. 

A  cow  and  a  gay  little  calf  ran  along  across 
their  path.  Shorty's  false  shame  had  all  returned, 
but  he  stammered  into  some  words  again : 

"  'T  ain't  in  any  creature's  being  to  cruc'fy  their 
young,"  he  mumbled. 

And  all  knew  they  were  Bax's  own  defeat- 
stamped  words. 

Presently  a  turn  in  the  road  brought  some 
smoke,  toward  which  they  had  been  heading, 
much  nearer,  and  its  source  in  view.  A  crowd 
of  unpainted  wooden,  and  red  adobe  huts  semi- 
circled  this  sugar-plum  like  flies.  A  throbbing 
crept  into  the  air,  and,  far  up  the  side  of  a  hill, 
wooden  buildings  and  flumes  were  apparent. 

52 


Coals  to  Newcastle 

"  It 's  the  mine,"  Shorty  announced,  with  the 
monotonous  pleasure  his  profession  called  forth. 

"  There  's  one  thing  certain,"  said  Mr.  Camp- 
bell ;  "  there 's  trouble  brewing  in  these  parts 
somewhere." 

"If  you  want  to  find  it  —  yes,"  the  driver 
returned  with  a  certain  dignity  that  made  his 
evasion  serious. 

"  D'  you  mean  to  deny  old  Weffold  and  Dick 
Garnet  fo'  't  ?  "  asked  Campbell. 

"I  don't  know  nothing  of  'em,"  Shorty 
returned. 

Campbell  burst  into  jeering  laughter : 

"You  said  as  much  jus*  now  your  own  sen," 
he  said. 

"  Dick  Garnet  brought  Bax  home,  ind'rectly  — 
that  is  what  I  said,  an'  you  know  it." 

"  And  you  don't  want  to  say  sence  then,  Mr. 
Hity  Tity,  that  Dick  Garnet's  come  in  on  Bax 
Wefford's  gredge  with  the  old  Maj'r  ?  " 

Shorty  sniffed. 

"  Guess  Dick  Garnet 's  rich  enough  to  take  care 
of  his  sen,"  he  announced. 

"There'll  be  trouble  brewing,"  Mr.  Campbell 
allowed  himself  to  remark  in  conclusion,  just  as 
if  he  had  not  said  it  before,  and  with  all  the 
enjoyment  in  his  voice  of  a  man  who  loves 
trouble  and  likes  to  see  it  prosper  indefinitely. 
They  were  nearing  the  town  gradually,  and  on 

S3 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

one  side,  just  now,  six  or  seven  little  oblong  picket 
fences  surrounded  as  many  mounds  on  the  waste 
of  barren  plain. 

"  Cem'tery,"  announced  Shorty,  nodding  to- 
ward it  with  his  whip. 

The  girl  shuddered,  as  young  people  will. 

But  Shorty  had  his  pride,  and  he  longed  to 
display  it.  His  chivalric  regard  for  female  love- 
liness, though,  made  him  turn  toward  the  strange 
man  as  he  said  this : 

"  Only  one  nat'ral  death  among  'em,  and  that 
was  a  woman's  as  was  sick  when  she  come  along." 

"  It  is  a  very  creditable  record,"  returned  the 
young  man.  Shorty  caught  the  twinkle. 

"  Ever  met  the  Garnets  ?"  he  asked,  turning 
around  more  fully. 

"  Once,"  returned  the  stranger. 

"  Dick  ?  "  asked  Shorty. 

"  All  of  them,"  was  the  answer  this  time. 

Riches  have  a  fascination  for  us  —  rich  people 
—  good  or  bad. 

The  young  man  was  looking  straight  ahead 
of  him.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  Garnet 
mine.  He  heard  an  eager  voice  beside  him 
all  at  once.  It  made  his  heart  throb  more  and 
more  quickly,  for  it  was  accelerated  a  trifle,  as 
it  was. 

"  And  are  the  Garnets  such  a  very  wonderful 
people  as  one  hears  ? " 

54 


Coals  to  Newcastle 

"  What  does  one  hear  ? "  he  asked,  looking 
at  her.  "It  all  depends  !  " 

"  That  they  are  so  fond  of  each  other,  and  so 
aristocratically  funny"  she  returned.  And  then 
he  shook  his  head,  as  if  it  were  beyond  him. 

"  That  is  only  a  point  of  view,  is  it  not  ?  "  he 
answered. 

But  she  was  not  to  be  put  off  so  easily. 

"  It  is  no  secret  about  the  Garnets;  but  may 
be  you  don't  know  what  people  say  of  them? 
It  was  all  in  the  papers  once,  when  he  discovered 
Hope." 

"  Possibly  I  did  n't  read  it,"  her  companion 
said.  She  looked  at  him  out  of  the  corner  of 
her  eyes,  as  if  settling  his  social  standing.  Then 
she  asked  abruptly : 

"  Where  are  you  from  ?  " 

He  smiled  and  promptly  answered  "  New 
York,"  thinking  he  had  the  advantage  on  this 
occasion  ;  but  she  only  puckered  her  brows  scorn- 
fully and  replied  : 

"  There,  I  knew  before  you  said  it.  Every 
one  in  New  York  is  engrossed  simply  in  his  own 
affairs." 

He  went  under  at  this  stab,  but  came  up  when 
it  was  over,  encouraged  by  something  he  knew. 

"  But  all  over  the  rest  of  the  United  States 
people  have  read  of  the  Garnets,  time  and  again. 
It  is  in  Sunday  morning  magazines.  How  the 

55 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Garnets  were  supposed  to  be  very  rich  and  lived 
in  New  York,  and  were  greatly  envied  by  every 
one.  There  were  three  brothers  of  them,  and 
one  younger  son  by  another  wife.  That  is  the 
noblest  part  of  it,  —  her  having  loved  them  even 
almost  better  than  her  own,  and  teaching  that 
love  amongst  them.  For  one  time  Dick,  who 
was  the  very  oldest,  committed  some  expensive 
crime  — " 

At  this  the  young  man  did  not  restrain  his 
laughter.  It  came  out  almost  wildly,  and  in  this 
God-forsaken  country  was  one  note  of  thanks- 
giving in  his  laugh. 

Then,  as  he  offered  no  explanation  for  it,  she 
went  on : 

"  And  then  there  was  some  terrible  trouble, 
and  just  when  it  was  all  about  to  be  made 
public,  Claude  Garnet,  that  was  the  step-brother, 
you  know,  gave  all  his  fortune  to  them,  —  he 
and  his  mother, —  so  that  hushed  it  up." 

The  mine  throbbed,  and  the  man  listened. 

"  I  think  it  was  the  noblest  thing  !  "  exclaimed 
the  girl. 

The  young  man  still  said  nothing. 

"  And  then  Dick  Garnet  left  his  home  and 
came  out  here,  and  —  you  know  the  rest  of  it. 
How  the  good  step-brother  went  to  work  in  an 
office  and  supported  Dick's  deserted  family  —  " 

56 


Coals  to  Newcastle 

She  looked  dreamily  before  her. 

"  Every  girl  in  our  seminary  wanted  to  marry 
Claude  Garnet  when  we  read  that,"  she  announced 
slowly. 

"  Did  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  quite  as  gravely. 

And  now  they  rode  on  toward  the  Garnet  mine. 

When  the  stage  stopped  in  town,  the  girl  got 
off  with  the  others. 

"  May  I  see  you  home?  "  the  man  of  the  morn- 
ing asked  her.  He  stood  near.  He  looked  as  if  he 
would  like  to,  and  she  thought  it  a  great  conquest, 
girl-like,  but  no-thanked  him  and  walked  away. 

And  as  Shorty  went  toward  the  freight  wagon 
about  her  trunk,  he  found  himself  pursued  by 
this  very  maiden,  and  suddenly  in  her  presence 
he  felt  at  home. 

For  a  great  humility  had  replaced  the  youthful 
self-confidence  on  her  face.  In  the  country  God 
had  forgotten,  she  had  heard  the  best  sermon  of 
her  life. 

"  I  am  going  to  Weffold's,"  she  said  to  this 
large-hearted  rough  diamond  on  this  occasion.  "  I 
want  you  to  forgive  my  not  having  said  so  sooner 
—  to  Bax  Weffold's.  I  am  his  sister-in-law." 

The  young  man,  left  alone,  hardly  knew  which 
way  to  turn,  so  he  turned  to  Mr.  Campbell,  who 

57 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

stood  staring  at  something  man  could  not  attempt 
to  place. 

The  stranger  sought  to  pierce  his  manner : 

"  I  trust  your  doubts  on  the  general  condition 
of  the  country  will  not  be  realized,"  he  commenced 
haltingly. 

Mr.  Campbell  stared  at  him. 

"  Not  to  doubt  nothin'  is  to  be  blind,"  he  said. 
"  There 's  been  two  times  to  my  own  knowledge 
lately  the  water  power  's  been  shet  off  from  the 
mine  fur  no  reason  whatsoever.  They  have  tried 
to  bore  for  water  themsen  and  failed.  Old  Carl 
Weffold  virtelly  controls  the  country,  'pointed, 
as  I  afore-mentioned,  by  the  Old  Boy  hissen." 

He  smiled  appreciatingly  at  this,  and  the  young 
stranger's  face  changed  also.  It  gained  in  re- 
sponsibility. 

"  The  mine  'as  changed  sup'rintendents  twice 
athin  a  year — trouble  is  a- brewing  somewhere," 
announced  Mr.  Campbell,  for  the  third  time. 
"  Last  fellar  called  old  Weffold  down  on  the 
street  in  town,  an'  the  men  backed  him,  and  there 
was  near  a  riot.  And  when  Dick  Garnet  came 
'twar  plain  to  see  he  was  jarred  by  it  till  he  said 
one  day,  in  his  jolly  way,  as  if  he  seen  a  way  out 
of  it  (it  was  to  Miss  Garnet,  his  wife  —  she 
seems  a  great  prop  to  him,  as  it 's  fit  in  a  wife  — 
women  are  useless  enough  as  it  is) : 

" '  By  Jove,  there  is  Claude  !  He  '11  come  for 
58 


Coals  to  Newcastle 

me.'  Hern  all  this  missen,  and  then  he  laughed 
hearty  way  of  his  he  has'n  and  said,  £  A  truce  to 
my  troubled  waters,  while  there  is  oil  like  Claude.' " 

It  is  funny,  O  you  rich  of  the  earth,  you  chil- 
dren of  Fortune,  how  we  can  remember  and 
cherish  your  every  word ! 

"  So  a  Garnet  is  coming  to  Garnet,"  remarked 
Mr.  Campbell,  almost  religiously,  and  he  looked 
straight  before  him  at  Heaven  knows  what  again. 

Then  he  said  to  his  companion : 

"  Ever  seed  Dick  Garnet  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  man. 

"  Him  an'  his  wife  an'  his  chil'ren  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  May  be  you  've  seen  the  new  sup'rintendent? " 

The  young  fellow  hesitated  a  moment;  then 
he  raised  his  head  simply.  He  turned  toward  the 
mine  and  looked  at  it. 

He  felt  the  great  vain  mastery  of  possession. 
No  man  (were  truth  unveiled)  had  a  better  right 
to  gaze  so  on  it —  Dick  Garnet  notwithstanding. 
Then  a  thought  seemed  to  pass  over  him 
slowly.  He  stood  back  and  seemed  to  grow 
shorter.  A  faint  flush  of  shame  stained  his  face, 
and  his  gaze  fell  short  of  a  sudden ;  yet,  by  some 
quirk  of  our  language,  we  are  to  call  this  his 
fairer  manhood. 

"  I  am  Claude  Garnet,"  he  said. 
59 


WHOM   GOD    HATH   JOINED 

MEES  BAX'S  name  was  Laurel.  It  had 
been  Laurel  Laurence  once,  but  for 
that  an  author  is  not  to  blame,  so  we 
must  pass  it  over. 

She  was  the  mother  of  Johann  Carl  with  the 
supplementary  Felix  breathed  in  an  undertone. 

But  Johann  Carl  Felix  WefFold  did  not  know 
himself  yet  by  this  cognomen.  He  was  simply 
Don.  Sometimes,  with  the  liberality  of  childhood 
in  disposing  of  its  immortal  soul,  he  would  say 
on  awakening  of  mornings  : 

"  A  day  I  am  not  Don  !  Am  a  little  boy  'at 
use  a-know  Shorty  afore  him  getted  balY* 

"  No,"  Mees  Bax  would  say  firmly  ;  "  that  little 
boy  had  straight  hair." 

Johann  Carl  Felix  would  get  very  angry  at 
this: 

"  No,  him  had  cals,"  he  persisted,  "  only  him 
neber  taked  a  bath." 

He  knew  this  clinched  the  matter  indisput- 
ably ;  for  she  was  too  proud  of  his  having  ar- 
rived at  such  an  irrefutable  conclusion  to  attempt 
to  defend  that  straight-haired  little  bouncer  (Bax 

60 


Whom  God  Hath  Joined 

proper)  who  had,  in  the  long  ago,  gone  to  sleep 
so  often  after  pulling  Shorty's  departed  hair. 

She  was  sitting  now  on  the  closed-in  porch, 
feasting  her  eyes  on  her  younger  sister,  who  had 
arrived  just  one-half  hour  before.  (Shorty  was 
dining  inside,  and  chatting  with  Sal,  who  was 
washing  dishes.  Sal  worked  there  rather  steadily 
those  days.)  She  never  took  her  eyes  off  Robbie, 
except  once,  when  Johann  Carl  Felix  called  out 
in  shrill,  inconsolable  dismay.  Then  she  rushed 
to  the  door,  and  looked  out  at  him.  He  had 
great  shaded  eyes  and  flax  glintery  hair,  and  it 
was  worth  the  rush  to  see  him. 

"  Mommie,"  he  cried,  "  come  q'ick  and  help 
me.  The  elfer  is  a-goin'  to  run  away." 

The  elephant  was  a  cotton-batting  beast  of 
irregular  proportions,  who  indulged  in  this  false 
alarm  periodically.  He  was  sitting  placidly  on 
the  ground  and  facing  the  gate  to  the  pasture. 

Mees  Bax  seemed  to  see  nothing  ridiculous 
in  it,  but  went  out  and  shut  the  gate,  talking 
sympathetically  as  she  did  so.  On  her  backward 
tramp,  she  paused  just  long  enough  to  fling  the 
little  lad  high  enough  to  kiss  him,  and  then  came 
back  to  her  seat.  She  looked  taller,  more  whim- 
sical than  ever,  and  the  effect  was  not  lost  on  the 
city  girl.  It  is  a  mistake  to  think  sisters  use 
gloves  in  handling  each  other's  feelings.  After 
two  years'  separation,  these  two  told  only  of  their 

61 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

gladness  in  long,  tender  looks.  There  were  too 
many  things  which  belonged  to  bed-time  con- 
fidences alone.  They  had  been  reared  singularly. 
Thus  the  same  sharp  dealing  with  surface  im- 
pressions and  a  certain  consequent,  half-unkind 
candor  became  a  mere  family  trait. 

Rel  was  Bax's  name  for  her.  After  sitting 
down  she  detected  Robbie's  gaze  with  that  very 
critical  summarizing  to  it,  so  her  lips  and  eyes 
took  on  a  certain  droll  resignation. 

"  Miss  Roberta  Laurence,  Dealer  in  Unvar- 
nished Truths,  what  have  you  to  say  now  ?  " 

Robbie  looked  responsible. 

"  Dark,  sallow  women  should  never  wear 
black,"  she  answered  quite  soberly.  "  You 
can't  stand  it.  There  should  be  some  relief 
to  the  deadness.  You  look  as  if  you  had  lost 
your  last  friend." 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Mrs.  Bax.  Then  she  added, 
with  a  certain  feminine  little  pathos,  "  I  have  a 
lavender  ribbon  in  my  room." 

Robbie  expressed  proper  horror  now. 

"Don't!"  she  cried.  "You'd  look  awful. 
Don't  you  know  any  better?  The  black  is  bad 
enough,  but  the  lavender  would  be  hideous  with 
your  complexion." 

Suddenly  she  seemed  to  think  of  something: 

"  Does  n't  Bax  know  ?  "  she  asked. 

"There  is  a  time,"  was  Mrs.  Bax's  sole  an- 
62 


TVhom  God  Hath  Joined 

swer,  "  when  a  man's  tie  and  a  woman's  dress  are 
only  rudimental  supports  of  marriage." 

Silence  ensued.  It  seemed  like  a  mist  in 
which  each  was  lost,  and  through  which  one  at 
least  could  not  see  clearly.  This  was  Robbie, 
and  when  her  voice  alone  seemed  to  struggle 
through  at  last,  it  had  an  odd  little  note  for 
assistance  in  it. 

"  I  don't  know  why  you  live  in  such  a  God- 
forsaken country." 

"  Every  one  calls  it  that,"  Mees  Bax  broke  in. 
"  We  fall  in  the  habit  of  talking  of  God  far  more 
familiarly  than  if  He  were  present.  I  never 
realized  how  that  could  be  till  I  got  here.  Still 
it  is  n't  right." 

"You  need  not  make  any  irrelevant  digres- 
sions," was  Robbie's  return  to  this.  "  I  simply 
can't  stand  it.  Life  began  to  change  the  very 
moment  I  crossed  the  border.  It  was  barely 
dawn,  and  suddenly  I  felt  my  heart  ache,  —  al- 
most as  if  I  saw  it.  It  was  so  real !  It  seemed 
as  if  I  were  miles  away  from  civilization,  and 
under  no  protection." 

"  You  have  us,"  said  Mrs.  Bax,  proudly ;  she 
was  thinking  of  Bax. 

"  You  !  "  the  girl  cried  as  if  tortured.  "  I  find 
you  the  most  absolutely  acclimatized  thing  in  the 
whole  country.  It  is  a  toss-up  between  you  and 
the  hills.  They  are  like  you,  and  your  black, 

63 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

and  your  not  wanting  to  change  it.  Just  fallen 
out  of  the  habit  of  looking  green." 

The  girl  sprang  up  and  went  to  the  door  in 
tense,  angry  rebellion.  She  looked  out. 

It  faced  the  northern  sweep  of  the  country, 
just  such  ground  as  she  had  traversed  several 
hours  before,  mile  after  mile  of  scorched,  drying 
stubble.  The  barnyard,  the  half-filled  corrals, 
the  great  guarded  tanks,  and  the  motionless  wind- 
mills mixed  hopelessly. 

Mrs.  Bax,  on  looking,  suddenly  covered  her 
eyes  with  her  hands.  She  did  not  care  to  re-live 
it.  When  she  looked  forth  again,  it  was  to  meet 
two  great  tearful  eyes,  and  to  feel  the  warm  clasp 
of  soft  city  hands  around  her  neck,  and  to  hear 
the  voice  not  given  to  many  such  weaknesses, 
half-moaning : 

"  Can't  you  see  I  love  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  oh,  yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Bax,  and  kissed 
her. 

Then  they  fell  apart  again. 

"You  see,"  the  older  woman  remarked,  as  they 
sat  at  proper  angles  now,  "  Bax  and  I  have  always 
loved  you  since  you  were  a  little,  little  girl,  and 
thought  you  had  a  right  in  the  parlor  when  he 
really  came  a-calling  on  me.  It  was  awfully  hard 
telling  you  otherwise  without  hurting  your  feel- 
ings, and  I  don't  know  what  we  'd  ever  have 
done  if  Bax  and  I  had  n't  paid  you  of  evenings  to 

64 


IVhom  God  Hath  Joined 

go  to  sleep  early  on  the  couch,  —  what  a  merce- 
nary little  thing  you  Ve  been  !  —  still  that  was  a 
subterfuge,  making  you  think  little  silly  school- 
girls needed  beauty  sleep.  But  I  never  minded 
leaving  you  for  him,  until  one  time ;  then  I  felt 
sorry  for  it.  It  was  when  Don  was  born.  I  re- 
member Bax  had  imagined  I  was  going  to  die. 
May  be  all  men  do.  And  so  when  it  was  all  over 
and  he  sat  there  holding  my  hands,  I  said,  c  Bax, 
there  is  a  thought  in  my  head.' 

"  And  he  said,  f  I  know,  darling.'  And  I 
said,  c  I  want  to  tell  it  to  you.'  And  he 
answered : 

" c  Rel,  I  was  the  bigger  brute,  so  let  me 
make  the  penance.'  I  thought  it  was  noble  of 
him  ! " 

"  Perfectly  lovely,"  Robbie  broke  in.  She  had 
held  up  her  hands  comically.  "  You  and  Bax 
are  in  a  constant  conversational  furor  like  Mr. 
Hope.  I  never  knew  such  clever  dialoguists. 
When  you  are  not  repeating,  word  for  word, 
what  Bax  said,  he  is  illustrating  all  sorts  of 
womanly  virtues  by  Rel." 

She  imitated  their  several  manners  truthfully, 
and  Mrs.  Bax  became  a  trifle  affronted. 

"  Well,  I  won't  bore  you  any  more,"  she  an- 
nounced, setting  her  lips  a  little. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will,"  answered  the  girl.  "  I 
want  to  hear  about  Bax's  being  noble.  Bax's 
S  65 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

nobility  is  like  the  Eiffel  Tower.  It  can't  be 
reported  too  high." 

Mrs.  Bax  was  silent,  whereupon  the  subject 
was  seized  and  handled  for  her  with  clever,  girlish 
impertinence. 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  it  for  you : 

"  Tableau  —  A  happy  room,  with  special  em- 
phasis on  the  happy,  and  two  foolish  people 
holding  each  other's  hands,  and  angels  singing 
"  Love's  Old  Sweet  Song,"  with  a  baby's  cry  in 
the  chorus.  Then  Bax  said :  f  We  have  two 
children,  only  we  never  knew  it.  Robbie  is  our 
eldest,  dear ! '  —  I  can't  put  proper  capitals  in 
when  I  am  talking." 

Mrs.  Bax  rose  above  the  banter : 

"  We  wrote  you  that  night,"  she  said,  "  at  least 
Bax  did,  and  I  kissed  it  afterward." 

"  You  were  foolish  to  have  wasted  the  time," 
said  the  girl.  "  You  should  have  known  me 
better.  I  did  not  need  a  mother's  love  then,  nor 
a  home  to  make  me  an  old-fashioned  Phyllis,  — 
I  have  always  been  too  up-to-date.  That  was 
what  made  me  refuse  your  offer.  I  love  the 
world." 

"  Yes,  I  know  now,"  returned  Mrs.  Bax, 
simply.  "  Then  Bax  and  I  were  hurt,  I  may  as 
well  tell  you,  and  we  did  not  have  much  money ; 
but  he  wanted  to  go  East  for  you,  and  bring  you 
back  to  our  home,  Robbie.  We  were  in  San 

66 


Whom  God  Hath  Joined 

Francisco  then ;  but  almost  on  top  of  this  deter- 
mination came  a  letter  from  your  chum's  mother, 
saying  how  she  was  very  wealthy,  and  had  only 
the  one  daughter  to  live  for,  and  she  asked  if  you 
might  visit  them  indefinitely,  telling,  in  a  kind, 
straightforward  way,  of  the  advantages  it  would  be 
to  you,  —  associating  with  cultivated  people  and 
living  in  such  a  lovely  home.  And  all  Bax  and 
I  had  in  contrast,  dear,  was  a  bare  room  and  our 
love  in  it.  I  know  we  were  ashamed  that  even- 
ing, imagining  how  you  would  have  looked  had 
you  come,  so  we  let  you  stay.  Only  we  were 
so  proud,  Rob  dearie,  when  you  wrote  you  had 
gone  as  her  secretary.  It  was  plucky,  Bax 
thought." 

"  Leave  off  the  p,"  Robbie  answered.  "  I  am 
tired  of  it.  They  said  that  there.  It  was  sheer 
luck  all  through.  Other  girls  have  to  work  lots 
harder  in  an  office  or  a  shop,  —  girls  every  bit  as 
good  as  I  am.  I  hate  points  of  view.  There  is 
only  one  way  to  look  at  it,  —  it  was  inevitable 
such  a  little  cad  would  feather  her  own  nest 
softly." 

Mrs.  Bax  commenced  to  laugh  at  that.  Robbie 
usually  struck  her  as  very  funny,  except  when  she 
made  her  mad. 

"  The  only  thing  I  can't  get  over  is  your  com- 
ing now,"  she  said.  "  'Pon  my  word,  I  '11  never 
be  too  sorry  Bax  was  n't  here  to  enjoy  my  aston- 

67 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

ishment.     It   was   the  surprise,   Robbie !     It  — 
was  —  the  only  divine  thing  you  ever  did." 

Robbie's  heart  contracted,  at  least  it  felt  that 
way.  She  did  not  like  to  say  what  Mrs.  Bax 
could  not  now  mention :  "  It  was  because  of 
Chicky's  death  I  came."  Chicky  had  been  a 
transient  roomer,  very  transient,  in  the  world,  and 
had  passed  out  just  one  month  before  this.  So, 
for  want  of  better  words,  Robbie  asked  : 

"  Did  you  know  me  when  I  rode  up  the  road 
on  the  stage  ?  " 

"  So  help  me,"  said  Mrs.  Bax,  "  yes." 

There  was  no  need  for  the  emphasis,  and  her 
voice  was  not  appropriate  to  it ;  but  it  bore  the 
simple  straightforward  stamp  of  her  acclimation, 
as  Robbie  called  it,  to  both  people  and  things. 

"  And  what  was  your  first  thought  ? "  asked 
Robbie  ;  "  tell  me  that." 

"  I  wished  Bax  were  near,  so  he  could  say,  c  I 
told  you  so,'  to  me.  I  deserved  it,  Robbie.  He 
always  said  there  was  good  in  you." 

Robbie  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Go  on,"  she  said,  "  do." 

Mrs.  Bax  smiled. 

"  People  in  Arizona  don't  flatter,  you  see. 
You  won't  like  us.  I  saw  it  in  your  face  as  you 
drove  up.  You  need  a  glamor  or  so,  my  love. 
But  when  you  stepped  off  the  stage,  I  was  bound 
not  to  go  out.  I  was  anxious  to  see  the  meeting 

68 


Whom  God  Hath  Joined 

between  you  and  Don.  You  said,  '  Who  am 
I,  darling  ? '  and  he  knew  you  at  once,  did  n't 
he  ? " 

"  Whatever  idiosyncrasies  you  and  Bax  claim," 
remarked  Miss  Laurence,  "  Don  's  all  ri'."  She 
said  it  with  a  thick  British  accent.  "  I  learned 
that  on  the  stage." 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  to  make  a  phenomenon  of 
him,  for  then  he  might  die,"  returned  his  mother. 
"  Don  is  a  bright  child."  She  laughed  here,  as 
if  defying  Robbie,  "  Only  remembering  you 
was  merely  calling  on  a  familiar  name.  That 
was  Bax  and  I  in  him.  He  could  never  have 
helped  knowing  you,  Robbie.  You  are  the  only 
girl  he  's  ever  heard  about." 

She  rose  and  held  out  her  hand  to  the  girl. 
Robbie  followed,  almost  solemnly  ;  but  when  they 
got  to  the  broad  screen  door,  Mrs.  Bax  just  flung 
it  wide,  and  pointed  outside  somewhere,  in  a 
sweeping,  lingering  sort  of  way. 

"  We  buried  our  little  lad  out  there.  I  don't 
want  you  to  feel  badly  for  me  ;  but  I  '11  never, 
never  forget  your  having  come.  It  is  not  only 
having  good  in  you,  but  putting  it  to  account,  my 
dear." 

The  girl's  eyes  had  grown  dark  again  of  a 
sudden,  as  they  had  on  the  stage.  She  shivered, 
and  edged  nearer. 

69 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  It  is  all  so  sad,"  she  cried. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Bax,  simply. '  She  had  argued 
it  out  often  before.  "  No,  not  sad,  my  dear. 
They  say  God  suits  the  back  to  the  burden.  So 
I  have  often  thought  when  He  went  out  of  the 
State,  He  took  Hope  with  him.  It  is  on  the 
same  plan,  —  gray  may  become  black,  but  never 
white  again. 

"  Bax  and  I  never  thought  we  could  love 
better  than  we  did  Don,  but  we  did  not  know. 
This  was  so  very  different,  —  such  a  poor  sad 
little  scrap  of  humanity.  Our  life  was  not  very 
long  together.  On  the  day  he  died,  I  can 
remember  a  Mexican  woman's  hanging  over  me 
when  I  lay  half  asleep,  and  saying,  in  such  a  sad 
little  fashion,  f  It  is  so  sorry  to  have  a  baby  dead,' 
and  I  mumbled,  { No,  so  happy ! '  and  they 
thought  I  was  delirious.  Only  Bax  knew." 

She  went  in  so  suddenly  it  lent  loneliness  to 
her  reason. 

"  Now  you  are  here,  Rob,  we  can  be  awfully 
happy  together,  and  you  must  n't  be  lonely, 
darling  ;  only  there  's  not  much  company.  Now 
the  men  have  been  away  all  morning,  and 
were  to  have  coffee  and  lunch  in  the  fields,  and 
Bax  had  to  go  with  them.  There  was  some- 
thing about  the  boundaries  only  he  knows. 
But  if  I  wait  any  longer,  he  will  never  forgive 
me." 

70 


Whom  God  Hath  Joined 

She  stepped  across  the  narrow  hallway,  toward 
the  sound  of  Sal's  steady  stream  of  conversation 
and  Shorty's  appreciative  chuckle  every  once  in  a 
while. 

"  Shorty,"  she  said,  "  thet  sweet,"  as  he  'd  be  apt 
to  call  it,  "  there 's  not  a  man  around  to  send 
for  my  husband,  and  I  want  him  home." 

In  nonsensical  little  moments  such  as  these 
she  gained  a  great  pride  of  a  sudden,  and  would 
not  call  Bax,  Bax  to  the  men. 

Shorty  rose,  flustrated,  from  where  he  had  been 
shovelling  Mexican  beans  into  his  mouth  on  nice 
warm  tortillas. 

"Yer  only  have  to  say  the  word,  Mis'  Wef- 
fold,"  he  answered.  By  almost  mechanical  intui- 
tion he  called  her  Mis'  Weffold  instead  of  Mees 
Bax  these  times. 

She  laughed  and  said,  "  Don't  hurry,  you  're 
awfully  kind  to  go,  Shorty." 

Then  a  moment  later  he  heard  her  outside. 
She  had  on  her  "  frilly "  voice,  to  quote  Mr. 
Campbell,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  mischief 
in  it. 

"I  think,  after  all,"  it  was  saying,  —  that 
voice,  —  "I  '11  let  him  come  at  dusk,  Robbie. 
Go  tell  Shorty  to  leave  things  as  they  are.  And 
you  stand  by  the  gate  just  so,  girlie,  as  if  you  'd 
stepped  off  the  stage.  We  don't  look  unlike 
each  other,  and  I  want  to  see  if — if  he's  known 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

I  was  dark  and  sallow  and  all  the  rest  of  it  this 
long." 

Sal  went  on  with  her  cooking,  after  a  back  toss 
at  it. 

"  They  're  a  great  team,  them  two,"  she  said. 


MAID    AND    MAN 

•  ' 

THE  tragedy  of  Robbie's  first  impressions 
did  not  affect  her  permanently.  She 
was  too  young,  and  the  change  was  too 
immense.  It  was  very  vital  to  her  former  mode 
of  life,  also. 

At  first  she  could  not  classify  her  thoughts. 
Then  existence  became  divided  into  two  great 
epochs,  —  the  time  before  and  after  Chicky's 
death. 

Twenty-two  years  and  these  coming  days : 
first  one,  then  two,  barely  four  (I  might  tell  you) 
before  we  have  to  do  with  her  again  ;  yet  one 
period  seemed  as  long  as  the  other.  For  she  was 
not  separated  from  her  past  by  distance  only ; 
more  by  the  mere  fact  that  it  was  to  be  past  to  her, 
—  a  sort  of  background  effect  forever.  And  she 
had  been  very  sincere  in  her  impulse  toward  Bax 
and  his  family,  and  their  great  need  of  her  just 
then. 

In  this  new  phase  of  life,  she  confessed  to  the 
shallowness  of  her  other  views  on  people  and  things. 
And  when  the  chastisement  grew  too  severe,  she 

73 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

would  turn  over  on  her  great,  cool  pillow  in  her 
little  attic  room,  in  Rel's  queer  adobe,  and  say,  in 
that  little  restless,  moaning  way  which  sleep  would 
not  seem  to  soothe  very  kindly,  simply,  "  I  did 
not  know  before." 

She  did  not  own  any  more,  because  everything 
was  a  wonderful  and  alarming  chaos,  out  of  which 
that  hesitating  little  sentence  was  all  she  could 
deduce.  But  there  were  a  great  many  memories 
of  her  past  life,  those  days.  They  came  like  ghosts 
in  the  dim  room  which  this  wonderful  night  time 
of  Arizona  lit  magnificently.  Then  the  parties, 
the  people,  the  rich  clothes,  the  march  of  elabo- 
rate events  in  her  past,  dwarfed  considerably. 

And  what  better  form  can  memory  take  than 
of  ghosts?  —  something  which  has  been  real,  and 
well-loved,  or  hated,  once,  and  now  but  shadowy, 
tantalizing  things  we  fear  to  touch,  and  thus 
can  never  meet  face  to  face,  environed  by  the  same 
humanity  and  circumstances  again. 

There  were  periods,  too,  toward  which  the 
thoughts  of  this  person  or  that  one,  the  past  and 
the  present,  turned  almost  invariably.  Problems 
which  she  worked  out  only  at  night,  —  thoughts 
of  Mrs.  Bax,  their  girlhood,  the  things  she  her- 
self had  done  and  had  not  done ;  a  thousand 
useless  regrets  and  remorses,  —  all  still  in  a 
hopeless  and  unsatisfactory  whirl  when  sleep 
came  at  last  to  her. 

74 


Maid  and  Man 

But  the  young  cannot  sleep  to  no  purpose. 
And  as  if  the  health  of  body  brought  health  of 
mind,  she  would  awaken  to  spring  from  her  soft, 
low,  little  bed,  and  watch  the  dawn  of  the  new 
day  in  this  strange,  sand-driven  land,  with  its 
incomparably  beautiful  heaven. 

There  would  come  to  her  the  constant  chatter 
kept  up  by  the  snowy  ducks,  the  sad,  far-off  low 
of  some  lonely  cow  for  its  young,  the  cheery  josh 
called  from  hand  to  hand  amongst  the  many 
punchers,  sometimes  the  words  of  a  ballad,  sung 
many  times  in  their  home  parlor  by  Mrs.  Bax,  or 
the  whirr  of  an  ax  swung  by  the  stern  old  Maj'r, 
as  he  worked  mechanically. 

This  was  his  one  recreation.  "  It  des  old 
bones  no  good  to  settle,"  he  would  say,  when 
rallied  on  it.  The  South  came  out  in  that  voice, 
uncorrupted  by  forty  years  of  frontiersman  lingo, 
—  soft,  clinging,  at  almost  startling  variance  with 
eyes,  mouth,  and  manner,  —  his  native  tongue. 

All  these  sounds  would  rise,  I  say,  and  yet 
standing  against  the  frame  of  her  window  those 
dawns,  or  kneeling  wonderingly  in  her  flimsy 
night-robes  still,  nothing  save  a  passionate  sense 
of  pity  would  come,  as  yet  unnecessary  and 
unlocated. 

In  time  she  acknowledged  what  provoked  it. 
Nothing  which  was  near,  I  say.  Even  the  throb- 
bing little  echoes  which  answered  those  love-words 

75 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

in  Mrs.  Bax's  voice,  echoes  from  the  heart,  if  you 
will,  with  its  store-house  of  harmony  and  discord, 
courtship,  wedlock,  motherhood,  child-giving  — 
let  us  not  forget. 

This  would  be  Bax  afar  off  with  his  little  son 
on  one  horse,  sitting  close,  as  of  one  body. 
Sometimes  it  was  a  mere  silhouette  against  the 
sky  or  mountains,  —  a  moving  speck  on  the  vast 
panorama.  Nearer  again,  at  times  you  could  see 
the  man's  face,  dark  and  yet  fair,  strong  and  yet 
tender,  with  its  physical  and  spiritual  battles  at 
end  for  the  moment ;  and  looking  up,  as  at  a 
sacred  image,  the  adoring,  beautiful  eyes  of  his 
child. 

"They  are  very  companionable,"  Mrs.  Bax 
would  say  proudly. 

"What  do  they  say  to  each  other?  I  never 
realized  children  talked  sense  before." 

Mrs.  Bax  would  look  superior.  She  always 
did  on  such  occasions.  Don  and  Bax  were  as 
open  books  to  her,  and  she  wanted  them  to  be  so 
to  each  other,  more  and  more  familiar  as  time 
went  by.  She  was  never  jealous.  Often  on  these 
occasions  she  could  imagine  what  the  child  said 
to  the  father,  and  how  that  rare  smile  of  the 
man's  would  come  and  linger,  as  if  it  were  tremb- 
ling, or  his  arms  tighten  a  bit  around  the  little 
form. 

76 


Maid  and  Man 

"  Somp  day  '11  ganpa  gib  all  a  me  poppie,  if 
me  am  a  good  boy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Don,  only  that  is  a  secret  between 
mommie  and  us  two." 

"  When  ganpa  gib  a  me  poppie,  will  him 
throw  ? " 

"No  ;  why,  mannikin  ?  " 

"  Him  throw  a  c'gar  box  yesaday.  Elefer 
look  ferry  funny.  Me  teached  a  elefer  not  to 
throw." 

Bax  looked  over  his  head  a  second. 

"  When  all  a  mine,"  continued  the  little  fellow, 
stumbling  in  his  generous  haste  into  irregular  little 
rises  and  tender  cadences,  "me  gib  all  a  oo." 

And  they  'd  put  a  spur  at  that  to  the  gay  little 
mustang,  and  ride  like  mad,  keeping  time  with 
their  laughter. 

While  almost  identically,  with  a  na'ive,  tender 
little  intuition,  Mrs.  Bax  would  emerge  from  the 
hallway  or  cupboard,  or  wherever  she  had  chanced 
to  flee  to  gird  herself  for  an  attack  on  that  ever 
constant  thorn  in  her  side. 

This  sat  in  an  easy  chair  and  owned  changeless 
relentless  eyes  under  white  shaggy  eyebrows. 
When  he  felt  her  beside  him,  he  gained  the  per- 
fect quiet  of  listening  attention  without  looking 
up. 

"May  I  read  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  madam,  thank  you."  The  thank  scalded. 
77 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

That  was  all. 

It  was  of  matutinal  courage  this,  conceived  of 
nobler  things  than  her  own  heart  knew  literally 
of  as  a  motive. 

And  a  failure, — oh,  sad  part !  —  for  the  day  will 
come  when  we  stop  our  acts  and  call  them  inten- 
tions, which  cease  also  after  a  while. 

Under  the  wear  and  tear  of  these  emotions,  the 
ranch  as  a  unit  was  singularly  prosperous,  Robbie 
thought.  She  caught  on  to  the  minutest  details 
whimsically,  with  a  quaint  little  belief  in  her  own 
interest  in  them.  The  story  she  had  heard  on  the 
stage  coming  in  was  stripped  now  to  almost  a  hand- 
to-hand  encounter  between  the  natures  of  the  father 
and  son.  She  saw  the  bitter,  continual,  relentless 
hate  Cart  Weffold  bore  in  look  and  manner.  It 
seemed  like  fire  of  the  blood  to  her,  which  the 
milk  of  human  kindness  was  totally  unable  to 
quench.  In  contrast  were  Bax's  lordly  or  mar- 
tyred submissions.  In  such  moments  the  figura- 
tive bending  of  his  back  seemed  almost  literally 
due  to  the  clinging  arms  of  that  little  chap  whose 
right  it  was  to  own  Weffold  some  day,  — just  as 
his  sharp  speeches  seemed  ever  just  checked,  but 
in  a  dreamy  sort  of  fashion,  as  if  it  were  a  woman's 
hand  which  went  over  his  mouth. 

After  looking  around  a  bit  for  lodgings,  Claude 
Garnet  discriminately  chose  Mrs.  Fitzsimmons' 

78 


Maid  and  Man 

— cc  Mrs.  Fitzsimmonses,"  if  I  may  quote  to  the 
letter.  He  did  not  know  much  about  her. 

"Can  you  point  me  out  some  decent  lodgings?" 
he  had  said  to  Mr.  Campbell,  that  first  afternoon, 
not  knowing  any  one  but  Mr.  Campbell,  and 
having  run  across  this  gentleman  on  his  way  from 
the  mine.  (The  stalwart  miner  wore  a  new  hat, 
Mr.  Garnet  observed,  and  stood  well  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  as  if  he  'd  gotten  there  in 
some  innocent  fashion,  and  then  received  an  elec- 
tric shock,  from  which  he  had  not  recovered.) 

"  I  kin,"  this  gentleman  responded  agreeably. 

"  You  see,"  young  Garnet  went  on,  "  it  is  un- 
comfortable knowing  no  one." 

Mr.  Campbell  looked  blanker  than  ever : 

"  There 's  the  sup'rintendent's  house  ?  "  he 
suggested  innocently. 

"  I  am  a  single  man,"  the  young  fellow  replied. 
"  I  can't  quite  see  the  justice  of  my  occupying  the 
best  house  in  town  alone,  while  our  book-keeper 
crowds  his  entire  family  into  that  cold,  miserable 
little  frame-building  which  barely  accommodates 
two  persons.  He  was  home  with  one  of  the  little 
girls,  who  is  very  delicate,  they  tell  me,  so  I  had  a 
good  chance  to  see  how  matters  were." 

He  told  it  very  simply.  He  had  come  with 
the  simple  hope  of  letting  the  men  know  that  he 
was  there  to  befriend  them ;  that  it  was  not  a 
question  of  capital  and  labor,  but  man  and  man. 

79 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Yet  with  no  medium  but  this  stolid-faced  Briton, 
he  realized  what  a  risk  his  utterances  ran.  How, 
with  no  other  interpreter  than  himself  for  his  acts, 
they  seemed  shallow,  false,  egotistical,  —  a  flimsy 
play  toward  unearned  popularity. 

But  Mr.  Campbell's  next  remark  showed  no 
foundations  for  his  misgivings. 

"  Ruther  partial  to  gu'ls  any  way,  I  guess,"  he 
remarked,  "  from  fourteen  upwards  ? " 

After  this  sly  innuendo,  he  burst  into  a  thun- 
derous guffaw.  There  war  n't  so  much  josh  in 
this  new  Garnet,  he  might  have  told  you,  but 
then  a  Garnet  is  a  Garnet,  the  world  around. 

Claude  tried  to  smile,  but  it  was  rather  sickly. 
He  did  not  envy  the  reputation,  and  wondered  if 
his  actions  on  the  stage  had  been  productive  of  it. 
It  was  not  comforting,  that  thought. 

At  any  rate,  he  continued  more  briskly,  he  was 
looking  for  lodgings  then,  just  a  room  to  put  up 
for  a  while  in,  and  a  clean  table.  It  was  n't  so 
much  consequence  —  the  food. 

At  that  Mr.  Campbell  became  very  business- 
like. "  Ther'  war  the  Palace  Hotel,"  he  began, 
proud  of  the  name ;  "  but  it  war  full,  —  some 
punchers  war  over  from  the  Chiricahua  Co.,  and 
ther  war  no  tamperin'  with  their  bunks.  Knowed 
a  fellar  's  ridden  out  o'  town  during  the  early  days 
in  same  burg'  for  using  the  hands'  blankets  over- 
night. S'posed  to  be  off'n  four  days'  drunk, 

80 


Maid  and  Man 

but  got  back.  Money  give  out,  he  suspect. 
Drink  more  or  less  on  either  side,  an'  nothin'  'd 
privented  bloodshed." 

Mr.  Garnet  would  not  go  to  the  Palace  Hotel. 

"  There  was  two  others  places,  both  wimmin 
folks.  Fust  fairly  good  sort  of  house,  kept  by 
Widder  Luster,  —  d'sarvin'  sort  of  female  :  only 
fault  any  one  could  find  with  the  widder  was  the 
s'reptitious  existence  of  Mr.  Luster.  Fellars 
kicked  a  little  over  that." 

Claude  looked  over  the  dry,  endless  country, 
and  wished  he  could  laugh  with  some  one  at 
that.  He  wanted  to  hear  of  the  other  widow. 

He  wanted  to  know  if  Mr.  Fitzsimmons  were 
surely  dead. 

Mr.  Campbell  guessed  "  yes." 

"'D  seen  his  head  shot  off  hissen,  V  pallbeared 
him  *s  well." 

It  was  very  convincing,  so  Claude  went  to  call 
on  the  widder  his  own  se'f,  as  little  Don  Weffold 
often  expressed  it,  when  he  disintegrated  his  soul 
from  that  bland  and  omnipresent  brute's, — the 
elephant,  —  or  his  very  vivid  recollections  of 
Bax's  lonely  little  boyhood. 

After  all,  we  are  but  the  outcome  of  many  gen- 
erations, many  boyhoods,  many  longing  hopes, 
great  joys,  and  many,  many  disappointments, 
little  Don,  so  they  should  not  have  laughed  at 
you.  With  Claude,  it  was  a  'new  self,  too,  one 
6  81 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

seemingly  very  separate  from  the  young  New 
Yorker.  He  doubted  if  his  success  as  a  son  and 
brother,  even  as  the  very  successful  ruler  of  that 
distant  household,  had  much  to  do  with  his 
success  or  failure  now.  He  did  not  know  much 
about  dealing  with  men,  and  had  told  Dick  so  on 
the  latter's  proposal. 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  is  something  you  can 
learn  in  school,"  Dick  had  answered,  in  his  char- 
acteristic fashion. 

Then  he  ended  very  seriously  :  "  It  is  the 
first  principle  of  life,  I  think,  Claude.  Be  true." 

He  gave  a  side-look  at  the  serious-faced  young 
fellow :  "  You  won't  have  to  go  far  out  of  your 
way,  my  boy." 

Claude  flushed  a  trifle  sensitively.  The  sweet- 
est part  of  such  praise  was  his  own  pleasure  in  it. 
It  made  him  unworthy  in  his  own  judgment. 

"  I  '11  go,  Dick,"  he  said. 

"  Bravo,"  cried  this  Bohemian,  gayly.  He 
felt  a  pang  at  parting  with  the  lad,  —  some  way 
Claude  had  ever  been  like  a  third  woman  about 
the  house,  —  some  one  to  add  to  his  welcome. 

"  Bravo,  my  son,"  he  cried.  "  I  shall  trust 
you  to  unravel  the  tangle,  subdue  our  arch 
enemy,  old  Weffbld,  make  the  men  satisfied  with 
their  surroundings,  and  keep  me  up  to  this  brand 
of  cigars.  I  am  spoiled  by  them,"  and  he  lit 
one  right  there  as  he  spoke. 

82 


Maid  and  Man 

Mrs.  Fitzsimmons  was  of  Scotch  parentage, 
and  prided  herself  on  never  appearing  overcome 
by  anything  of  earthly  character.  To  Mr. 
Campbell's  chagrin,  it  seemed  nothing  to  her  that 
a  Garnet  was  to  dine  off  her  humble  board.  I 
do  not  know  whether  this  was  the  result  of  a 
life  of  continual  disappointment,  or  her  noble 
birth  ;  as  Boston  Jim  (who  seemed  the  standard 
authority)  was  responsible  for  the  rumor  that  she 
was  the  eldest  daughter  of  a  Scotch  laird.  If 
this  be  false,  it  is  a  stain  on  Mr.  Boston  Jim 
only  ;  but  if  it  be  true,  it  is  to  be  acknowledged 
by  all  her  boarders  that  she  reflected  much  credit 
on  this  distinguished  parent  as  a  cook. 

Claude  found  it  both  clean  and  wholesome,  and 
did  not  worry  over  the  prophecy  entertained  by 
the  remainder  of  the  table,  that  the  kitchen  would 
be  insufferable  in  winter,  —  when  she  had  to 
move  her  stove  inside  the  house. 

Without  aggravated  assistance  from  either  eye 
or  ear,  Claude  knew  his  landlady  to  be  the 
mother  of  six  small  Fitzsimmons,  who,  hand  in 
hand,  by  daylight  swelled  the  floating  population 
of  Hope.  He  carried  candy  in  his  pockets  for 
them,  and  judged  that  they  went  in  numbers  so 
as  to  combine  the  geographical  intelligence  of 
each, — being  under  six  or  so. 

"The  apple  does  not  roll  far  from  the  tree," 
to  quote  an  old  saying.  The  little  Fitzsimmons 

83 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

made  no  pretension  to  the  dissipations  some  find 
in  the  mere  thought  of  living.  Their  mother 
worked  hard  for  a  living,  and  their  father, 
unfortunately,  had  had  his  head  shot  off.  We 
are  products. 

These  little  ones  were  seldom  home.  They 
threw  no  stones  in  the  path  of  their  bread  and 
butter. 

Mrs.  Fitzsimmons  was  rather  cold  to  Claude 
because  he  was  a  Garnet ;  but  as  he  was  very  just 
himself,  he  did  not  hold  this  erring  a  bit  on  the 
right  side  against  her,  so  one  day  he  said  to  her : 

"You  have  six  children,  Mrs.  Fitzsimmons. 
I  have  seen  but  four." 

Her  voice  was  not  unpleasant  to  one  for  all  a 
certain  acquired  resentment  mingled  surlily  with 
the  burr. 

"  I  ha'  no  wish  to  inflict  the  bairnies  on  my 
roomers,"  she  said. 

"  I  can  appreciate  your  thinking  that,"  an- 
swered Claude.  "  Yours  is  a  delicate  position. 
But  even  among  roomers  there  may  be  the  neces- 
sary exception,  now  and  again.  I  like  children." 

"  The  second  one,"  she  said  at  once,  "  fetched 
and  carried  up  to  Garnet's.  Eight  was  young  to 
rake  in  the  heavy  tailings.  The  older  ones  were 
apt  to  impose  on  him." 

Claude  heard  this  as  if  he-  were  not  a  Garnet, 
just  in  the  same  way  that  she  had  told  it.  He 

84 


Maid  and  Man 

was  too  new  to  flaunt  his  authority,  and  boom  a 
reformation,  before  he  felt  sure  of  its  chance  in 
the  place,  so  he  just  kept  silent,  but  remembered. 

Her  eldest  boy  worked  also,  she  told  him  ;  and 
when  he  would  have  asked  more,  something  in- 
stinctively forbade  him.  Later,  Mr.  Campbell 
told  Claude  this  was  her  "  deg  gun  pride  :  poor 
folks  hed  no  right  fer  to  hev  it  —  wimmin,  least 
ways  of  all."  Boston  Jim  might  have  traced  the 
mist-enveloped  Scotch  laird  in  that. 

Claude  learned  all  he  wanted  to  know  from 
the  child's  own  conversation.  It  crept  through 
the  cracks  of  Mrs.  Fitzsimmons'  boarding  house, 
and  permeated  the  food  one  guest  at  least  was 
eating. 

It  seemed  he  worked  for  a  heathen  Chinese, 
Lon  by  name, — that  was  all  the  mystery.  Claude 
was  engulfed  by  the  magnitude  of  the  question. 
He  had  heard  a  great  deal  about  Chinese  labor 
in  our  country ;  but  until  Mrs.  Fitzsimmons 
evaded  locating  her  first  bairn's  occupation, 
Claude  had  never  thought  of  the  American  side 
of  the  question.  "  It  seems  there  'd  been  none 
but  imported  vegetables  around  and  about  for 
years,"  Campbell  told  him,  "'cept  amongst  a 
priv't  family  or  so.  The  miners  were  too  busy 
mining,  and  the  women-folks  feel  themse'f  above 
such  work.  In  the  old  country,  a  woman  wasn't 
afraid  to  raise  vegetables,  tend  kids  —  work  a' 

85 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

what  not.  'Mericans  got  the  idea  someway  as 
they  was  made  of  glass. 

"  Then  a  heathen  Chinese  come  along,  him  and 
his  brother.  All  might  pass  for  brothers  's  far  as 
he  (Mr.  Campbell)  was  consarned,  though.  Well, 
the  celest'ls  was  in  search  of  an  opportunity,  and 
the  old  Maj'r  was  fond  of  his  feeding  so  —  they 
hit  it  off.  Let  them  a  bit  of  his  pastures  — 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  so  'd  heard  —  water  extra. 

"  Jes'  before  Fitzsimmons  was  a-blowed  un- 
ceremon'ous-like  into  'tarnity,  brother  had  up  and 
deserted  Lon  and  vegetable  patch,  for  restaurant 
in  town  —  there  yet,  American  Restaurant." 

"  That  is  very  good  in  itself,"  Claude  inter- 
rupted appreciatively. 

"  And  the  vegetable  fellow's  trade  had  growed 
a  trifle  this  year  or  more  —  so  's  he  had  to  keep  a 
helper,  and  not  a  son-of-a-gun  in  the  country  was 
poor  enough  to  go.  Second  week  after  Fitz  had 
been  lowered  down,  madam  sent  little  Bob  off  to  the 
chap.  Mothers  round  have  talked  a  heap  on  it; 
but  one  can  say  this  for  Mrs.  Fitzsimmons,  she 
don't  ask  no  'pinion  of  her  neighbors,  nor  court 
none,  an'  what  she  thinks  is  right,  's  liable  to  be 
right  as  'pinion  of  any  other  woman." 

Claude,  seated  at  his  dinner,  could  not  help  but 
hear  the  little  lad's  home-coming  of  evenings. 
Idle  as  he  was  in  those  first  days  before  the  mine 

86 


Maid  and  Man 

was  in  his  active  possession,  he  found  himself 
interested  almost  mechanically  in  trivial  details 
and  alien  people.  At  last  scraps  of  the  conversa- 
tion became  doubly  intelligent  to  him. 

"  I  cem !  "  he  'd  hear  a  high  little  voice  say 
on  these  occasions. 

"  So,  and  I  see  ye,"  she  'd  respond.  Claude 
wondered  if  the  unconscious  wrong  her  stern 
heart  feared  she  was  doing  the  little  laddie  made 
her  harsh  voice  unusually  gentle  those  nights. 
But,  ah,  how  near  are  our  first-borns  to  us  ! 

"In  the  bag,  beside  the  vegetables  for  you, 
mither,"  —  that  was  as  broad  as  the  fictitious 
laird's  ever  could  have  been,  that  last,  neither  o 
nor  e  nor  i,  all,  and  yet  none,  —  "  is  a  watermilin 
for  the  little  folks.  An'  will  ye  save  a  piece  for 
Jamie  ?  We  ate  it  all  up  on  him  las'  time." 

"Yes,  and  how  is  the  fine  new  lady  down  at 
the  ranch  ?  Did  she  feed  the  turkeygobble 
again  to-day  in  her  party  dress,  Bobbie  ?  " 

Now,  in  frontier  talk,  it  was  this  little  bread- 
winner who  was  the  widder's  right  bower  those 
days.  And  whatever  he  did  not  learn  about 
Chinese  gardening,  he  made  up  on  the  great 
Weffold  family,  Claude  inferred. 

For  every  day  the  owner  of  this  illustrious 
name  (when  combined)  made  furtive  little  trips 
from  Lon's  field  to  real  WefFold's  to  ask  hope- 
less little  questions  about  the  time : 

87 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  Is  it  five  o'clock  yet,  Mees  Bax?  "  he  'd  ask 
at  9.30  or  thereabouts. 

"  No,"  she  would  answer,  her  big  pity  con- 
quering a  lesser  inclination  to  laugh.  "  You  're 
not  going  to  forget  lunch-time,  Rob,  are  you  ? " 
He  'd  slink  away  (mostly  with  his  little  hand  filled 
from  the  Weffbld  larder),  and  come  back,  say  in 
a  half-hour  again  : 

"What  o'clock  is  it  now,  Mis'  Weffbld?  I 
thought  it  might  be  near  night  noo,"  —  he  al- 
ways ended  up  very  droopy-lipped  and  Scotch. 

In  this  manner,  Claude  heard  much  of  the  talk 
from  Weffbld's,  and,  without  acknowledging  it,  this 
satisfied  a  certain  hunger  ;  for  since  a  chance  suspi- 
cion had  lit  his  identity  of  the  fair  young  stranger, 
WefFold's  had  become  as  salt  unto  bread  to  him. 

He,  superintendent  of  the  Garnet  mine  and 
Atlas  of  the  Garnet  fortunes,  found  a  keen,  fool- 
ish, filling  pleasure  in  such  childish  observations 
as  this : 

"  Mither,  the  new  young  leddy  never  seed  a 
duck  in  a  storm  before.  She  clapped  her  hands 
over  her  ears  to-day,  and  ran  when  the  thunder 
came  like  it  do  of  a  sudden.  Her  feet,  I  think, 
are  as  little  as  Marj'rie's,  if 'twere  in  a  shoe  with 
a  point  and  laced  tight-like  at  the  ankles." 

(Marj'rie  was  four  the  coming  winter !) 

"  You  must  learn  more  of  beans  and  onions, 
and  less  of  fine  ladies,  boy." 

88 


Maid  and  Man 

But  he  could  not.  His  mouth  must  have 
gone  open,  and  his  legs  ceased  to  be  active  dur- 
ing those  wonderful  first  days  of  Robbie  Laurence 
at  the  ranch.  She  was  like  no  human  woman 
Hope  had  ever  seen  before.  She  had  white  skin, 
he  told  his  mother,  with  no  yaller  to  it,  like  other 
women  in  Arizona ;  and  yet  no  great  mar  of 
freckles,  like  Jamie  had.  And  for  all  her  feet 
were  so  very  little,  she  went  light  on  them  like 
the  very  wind  ;  while  only  yesterday,  as  she  flew 
down  the  road,  holding  on  to  the  hand  of  little 
Don  Weffold,  her  hair  went  to  slip,  and,  before  she 
caught  it,  she  looked  like  the  picture  of  Cinder- 
ella as  she  ran  away  from  the  party,  in  the  story 
the  Sunday-school  gave  last  Christmas  off  their 
tree ;  only  her  skirts  were  longer. 

On  Claude's  fourth  night  at  Hope,  and  his 
first  night  as  official  controller  of  the  Garnet 
mine,  the  widder,  while  serving  him  as  usual,  said, 
with  unexpected  warmth,  to  him : 

"  It 's  a  great  jest  the  town  has  on  some  young 
gallants  this  day." 

He  looked  up  smiling.  "  The  men  at  the 
mine  were  having  their  laugh  over  something, 
but  my  being  a  stranger  lets  me  out  of  a  great 
deal,  I  imagine,"  he  replied. 

For  the  first  time  her  set  sameness  of  expres- 
sion showed  an  inclination  to  relax. 

"  It's  a  good  joke  on  some  one,"  she  said,  in 
89 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

the  proudest  trips  and  rolls  of  her  tongue,  "  and 
I  say  it  is  the  men,  this  once.  A  band  o'  them 
went  up  last  night,  serenading  the  city  young 
lady.  And  while  the  young  galoots  were  a  play- 
ing to  the  moon  outside  her  winder,  she  slept 
with  never  so  much  as  even  a  clap  of  her  hands 
for  'em.  And  a  sensible  lass,  it  is !  Give  it  to 
young  'Nito,  if  you  see  him.  They  say  he  has 
an  eye  on  the  girl,  and  goes  four  or  five  times  in 
the  day  now  t'  Weffold's,  making  like  it  is  orders 
from  the  store.  The  girl  as  is  sister,  so  they  tell 
me,  t'  young  madam  there." 

She  stepped  off",  and  then  came  back,  as  if  im- 
pelled to  do  it.  But  her  face  was  half  turned 
away,  so  keen  are  Scotch  hearts  for  protecting 
their  secrets. 

"  I  mind  Fitz  saying  once,"  she  said,  with  a 
simple  tenderness  in  her  very  false  shame,  "any 
one  who  could  sleep  through  Mart  Wheeler's 
fiddling  need  hev  no  fear  of  Gabr'el  or  Judg- 
ment Day." 

Claude  could  not  laugh,  —  it  was  so  yearning, 
yet  unexpected  a  mention. 

So  he  said,  "  Good  !  "  rather  awkwardly. 


90 


TWO  LETTERS 

ON  this  very  evening,  Claude  wrote  Dick 
some    full    particulars    about    the    mine. 
He  felt  that  he  should  do   it,  yet   his 
mind  was  on  neither  the  work  nor  his  brother. 

In  conclusion  he  wrote,  "  Get  the  children  to 
kiss  the  mutter  for  me  one  hundred  times,  if  she 
can  stand  it,  as  I  think  that  is  the  regular  dose, 
and  tell  her  I  will  write  to-morrow.  There  is 
nothing  much  to  say  to-night,"  et  cetera. 

But  on  second  thoughts  he  drew  the  paper  to 
him,  and  commenced  : 

DEAR  MOTHER  :  —  I  am  in  this  wonderful  Arizona  at 
last,  and  yet,  for  all  the  proverbial  hospitality  of  the  West 
and  this  great  frontiersland  in  particular,  I  find  I  am 
much  of  a  stranger  still.  No  one  has  taken  me  under 
his  wing,  nor  hers,  for  that  matter.  You  can't  under- 
stand such  execrable  judgment,  can  you,  mother  o' 
mine  ?  Those  rose-colored  glasses  are  dear  to  a  fellow 
this  far  away  from  home.  Well,  to  continue,  even 
Dick's  siren  of  sirens  has  let  me  completely  alone, — 
she  who  smiled  on  the  Devil  in  the  midst  of  his  labors, 
and  has  kept  him  flirting  desperately  ever  since;  for 
they  have  to  tell  this  to  enforce  it,  —  the  good  work  of 
destruction  is  but  half  performed. 

91 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

I  want  to  answer  some  of  those  questions  I  know  you 
are  pondering  these  days.  I  am  going  to  answer  them 
before  you  ask  them.  Is  it  the  love  or  vanity  of  my 
divination,  dear  ? 

I  am  not  ashamed  of  having  been  homesick  that  first 
evening  on  the  train — of  not  rebelling  against  it,  but 
wishing  I  had  some  one  near  me  to  tell  the  feeling  to. 
That  dear  old  solitude  confession  of  ours  and  Cowper's, 
—  was  it  not  ? 

I  felt  you  were  following  my  thoughts  those  days, 
and  both  of  us  were  re-living  the  pros  and  cons  of 
Dick's  proposition  about  the  Garnet  mine  and  me.  We 
imagined  I  needed  you  too  much  !  Dick  said  one  night : 
We  have  not  forgotten — "A  man  is  an  individual  and 
not  merely  a  son." 

This  brief  suggestion,  mother,  did  more  than  the 
most  eloquent  argument  could  have  done  for  me.  I 
might  have  lived  on  forever,  a  gentle,  faithful  sort  of 
lad  enough ;  life  asks  more  of  us.  Ever,  as  time  goes 
on,  the  call  of  Duty  must  needs  get  fainter,  unless  we 
train  our  ear  to  the  cry. 

It  is  not  hard  to  give  a  son  to  a  cause  which  is 
worthy.  You  shall  help  me  earn  my  manhood,  mother. 
We  shall  keep  the  call  of  the  world  in  our  ears.  The 
giving  to  the  world  of  one's  manhood  is  the  sacrifice 
asked  of  our  love  ;  noblesse  oblige^  my  dear  ! 

He  did  not  try  to  read  it  over.  Battling  with 
a  certain  wondering  distress,  he  rose  and  went  to 
his  humble  window.  He  tried  to  pull  himself 
together,  without  analyzing  what  caused  the  com- 

92 


Two  Letters 

plexness  of  this  letter.  It  was  to  his  mother,  to 
his  best  friend,  to  the  sharer  of  every  confidence 
in  his  life.  His  position  had  been  a  singularly 
solitary  one.  His  father  had  died  in  his  very 
earliest  infancy,  and  left  him  and  three  step- 
brothers entirely  in  the  mother's  care.  Claude 
realized  the  magnitude  of  her  responsibilities. 
He  had  felt  the  strain  of  their  leaning  on  her,  as 
his  reverence  gained  the  strength  of  years.  It 
was  barely  perceptible  at  first ;  when  the  weight 
grew  more,  it  was  so  gradual,  one  failed  to  stir 
now  and  again  in  the  restlessness  of  rebellion. 

They  were  kind,  clever,  handsome  fellows  — 
all  three.  They  had  fortunes  to  guard  and 
direct.  There  was  great  love  and  happiness 
amongst  them  all ;  but  Claude  knew  it  had 
weighed  on  the  stepmother's  mind  and  heart. 
He  remembered  —  a  mere  lad  himself — how 
she  had  broken  down  with  all  the  weariness  of 
some  felt  failure,  when  Ralph  reached  twenty- 
one.  She  was  no  longer  their  guardian,  she  said, 
yet  she  should  be  still,  she  was  sure  !  The  relin- 
quishment  was  a  relief,  with  many  misgivings. 
She  had  money  of  her  own  for  Claude ;  but  her 
sensitiveness  of  duty  kept  her  protection  toward 
her  stepsons  very  keen. 

Then  had  come  Dick's  trouble. 

He  had  called  on  Ralph  and  Edward  first ;  but 
until  they  were  forced  to  an  investigation,  they 

93 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

had  never  grasped  the  emptiness  of  the  bubble 
they  called  their  daily  lives.  The  fortunes  had 
gone,  with  barely  a  clew  to  their  flight. 

They  had  speculated,  lived  beyond  their 
means,  married  extravagant  wives,  been  feted 
society  gamblers.  "  The  little  girl  ! "  as  they 
called  Claude,  was  the  only  one  of  them  all  with 
securities  which  did  not  crumble  at  the  mere 
touch. 

Yet  with  the  justice  of  such  truly  generous 
types,  they  made  no  advances  toward  the  young 
fellow's  pity.  It  would  be  like  robbing  a  woman, 
they  thought.  Claude  came  up  from  Harvard 
himself.  He  was  sick  with  the  ugly  whispers 
papers  and  men  alike  had  about  Dick.  Honor 
was  a  great  thing  to  him  in  that  tender  passion- 
ateness  of  his  youth,  perhaps  as  a  sword  is  to  a 
soldier.  He  had  gotten  home  as  fast  as  steam 
could  take  him.  He  found  them  huddled  to- 
gether—  fretted  brothers  and  weeping  women — in 
the  beautiful  drawing-room,  which  was  mockery 
No.  i  ;  and  Mrs.  Ralph  and  Mrs.  Edward  were 
crying  in  a  heartsick,  horrified  sort  of  way  which 
seemed  to  suggest  not  so  much  the  agony  of  the 
blow,  but  visions  of  Sing  Sing,  and  what  their 
swell  friends  were  thinking  of  it,  and  if  people 
suffering  so  intensely  should  not  put  on  black. 

Dick  was  jesting  off  and  on.  Claude  shook 
hands  with  him: 

94 


Two  Letters 

"  I  want  to  hear  the  worst  of  all,"  he  said, 
barely  twenty,  very  plain  and  dark  and  youthful 
beside  the  great  handsome  others. 

Dick  tried  to  tell  him  how  it  was.  He  had 
known  there  was  absolutely  nothing,  and  had  used 
securities  which  were  nothing  to  him,  in  a  mad 
hope  of  winning  some  goodly  competence  again. 
He  spoke  lightly,  not  desperately.  He  avoided 
looking  at  his  wife  and  his  mother.  He  made  a 
flippant  and  irrelevant  remark  about  a  colored 
feather  in  Mrs.  Edward's  hat.  He  said  it  was 
from  a  peacock,  and  denoted  pride.  Mr.  Edward 
gazed  out  the  window,  his  back  toward  them. 
Mr.  Ralph  studied  the  coals  in  the  grate. 

Suddenly,  through  the  chill  and  stillness,  a 
voice  went  like  a  knife  through  them.  It  was 
the  wail  of  Mr.  Dick's  three  weeks'  old  little 
girl. 

Dick  started,  then  he  said  very  lightly :  "  You 
see  there  is  one  thing  left."  He  drew  his  hand 
across  his  throat,  smiling,  and  avoiding  Mrs. 
Dick's  eyes.  She  covered  them  all  at  once  with 
her  hands. 

It  was  then  that  Claude  became  a  seminary 
hero.  He  spoke  very  simply,  in  a  kind,  straight- 
forward manner  in  which  was  the  trace  of  a  little 
smart.  He  knew  more  about  business  than  they 
thought.  He  was  holding  the  reins  of  the  run- 
away horse  they  had  driven,  and  as  if  he  knew 

95 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

what  he  was  about,  at  that.  He  spoke  for  his 
mother  and  himself.  He  said  money  was  nothing 
except  it  be  a  bond;  it  was  never  intended  for 
a  crown,  —  this  was  parenthetical,  very  old  and 
sad  and  grave,  as  if  he  'd  picked  it  up  from 
Henry  George  or  some  such  Capital  and  Labor 
Giant,  —  a  bond  between  the  rich  and  the  poor, 
the  learned  and  the  unlearned,  the  fortunate  and 
the  suffering. 

It  would  be  worse  than  unkindness  for  Dick  to 
refuse  his  money.  Mr.  Edward  stared  harder  than 
ever  out  the  window.  Mr.  Ralph  was  leaning 
over,  and  making  a  great  clatter  about  the  grate. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  his  protestations, 
Dick  caught  sight  of  four  women,  as  of  one  face. 
He  said  not  a  word,  but  got  up  and  walked  around 
the  table,  laying  his  hand  on  Claude's  shoulder. 
The  pathos  was  now  wider  than  the  grotesque- 
ness.  He  was  warning  Claude  against  himself. 
He  said  : 

"You  must  think  twice,  laddie,  I  know  noth- 
ing about  you  —  your  hopes  or  your  plans.  It 
is  not  to  my  credit ;  but  the  key  to  all  paths  is 
money,  my  boy.  You  have  your  own  future. 
This  will  blow  over.  You  must  not,  Claude, 
you  must  not.  It  is  as  much  as  a  brother  would 
do." 

Dick  tried  to  look  some  place  where  there 
was  n't  a  woman.  No  light  jest  rose  to  his  falter- 

96 


Two  Letters 

ing  lips.  Suddenly  out  of  the  trembling  assembly 
a  woman  stepped  toward  Claude.  She  forgot  that 
he  was  the  benefactor,  they  the  beneficiaries.  Her 
eyes  were  full  of  pity.  She  had  seen  the  bitter- 
ness of  the  outsider  in  his  face.  She  reached  out 
her  hand  and  took  his  kindly,  the  sense  of 
debt  being  lost  in  that  moment  forever.  She  did 
not  look  at  Dick,  or  at  one  of  the  others. 

"  You  are  teaching  us  what  brotherhood  is,  dear 
Claude,"  she  said. 

In  the  haze  and  daze  of  crowding  memories, 
Claude  laid  the  deed  at  his  mother's  door.  It 
was  her  training.  Just  at  that  moment,  he  had  felt 
that  the  actual  money  given  seemed  nothing  ever 
to  be  regretted.  Without  speaking  a  word  to 
her,  Claude  had  known  she  would  have  told  him 
to  do  this.  The  doing  it  without  the  asking  was 
only  one  of  the  tender  compliments  he  thought 
of  now  and  again  to  surprise  her.  In  her  eyes, 
he  thought  her  own  love  was  better  demonstrated 
by  it. 

To-night,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  felt 
the  force  of  Dick's  kindly  little  shaft.  He  did 
not  understand  it  all.  In  the  same  way  he  could 
not  at  once  acknowledge  that  he  had  slipped  his 
boyhood  forever  at  last.  New  forces  were  at  work 
within  him.  It  was  his  first  day  as  unadvised 
steward  of  a  vast  estate.  He  thought  that  it  was 
7  97 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

this  which  made  him  write  the  same  words  as 
formerly,  and  yet  not  feel  suited. 

Meanwhile,  unseen,  his  retarded  individuality 
fought  to  grasp  itself  as  a  conscious  and  powerful 
possession.  Unsatisfied,  the  young  fellow  gazed 
Jong  out  of  his  window.  Without  being  aware 
of  his  thoughts,  his  eyes  took  the  direction  of 
Weffold's. 

A  great  loneliness  took  possession  of  him. 
Unable  to  break  old  ties,  or  comprehend  new 
ones,  suddenly  he  commenced  writing  again. 

He  changed  the  tenor  slightly.  He  became 
gossipy  and  jocose.  There  was  a  trace  of  Dick 
in  it. 

He  told  of  the  little  Fitzsimmons  lad,  and 
bade  the  mother  re-tell  the  joke  to  the  boys,  —  a 
Robert  Fitzsimmons,  aged  ten  with  no  muscles, 
many  freckles,  and  anything  but  a  prize-ring  look. 
He  wrote  of  his  landlady.  He  drew  a  happy 
sketch  of  the  dining-room,  the  great,  heavy  regu- 
lation cups,  and  the  cracks  in  the  walls,  and  the 
stove's  summering  out  in  the  rough  little  shed, 
and  how  once,  like  the  famous  Prince  and  the 
hot  cakes,  he  had  been  called  upon  to  turn  chef 
one  evening,  and  acquitted  himself  with  great 
credit. 

Then  he  told  of  the  Weffolds,  father  and  son. 
He  knew  how  the  reader's  heart  would  yearn 
over  the  sad,  strange,  little  story,  and  he  wove  the 

98 


Two  Letters 

tender  little  romances  through  it  which  Shorty 
had  narrated  on  the  stage.  He  portrayed  the 
different  men  he  had  met  with  fresh  yet  satirical 
humor.  His  words  grew  more  unlike  him  as  he 
went  on. 

He  wrote  comically  of  his  day  at  the  mine. 

There  was  a  vein  of  kingly  solitariness  in  his 
quaint  observation  on  his  one  friend,  —  the  imper- 
turbable Mr.  Campbell. 

"  Simmons  (the  book-keeper)  introduced  me  to 
the  men,"  he  wrote.  "  It  was  my  own  idea," 
this  was  rather  wistful  ;  "  I  wanted  them  to 
know  me  as  a  new  hand.  There  were  several 
hundred  of  them,  yet  not  one  I  could  gain  a 
responsive  look  from.  Mother,  the  whole  world 
is  more  than  willing  to  c  hae  its  doots,'  I  fear, 
rather  than  hope  and  faith  in  each  other.  There 
will  be  much  to  surmount,  perhaps,  but  the  end 
will  be  worthy  the  labor. 

"  We  ran  across  Campbell  presently.  I  can't 
tell  you  how  glad  I  was  to  see  him,  but  that 
was  my  first  lesson.  He  would  not  see  me." 

He  knew  she  would  understand  his  thoughts 
on  the  subject,  so  he  simply  wrote  : 

"  The  book-keeper  spoke  afterwards  on  the 
matter.  (He  seems  a  worldly,  capable,  well-placed 
fellow,  tell  Dick.)  He  said  these  things  are 
better  so  —  at  least  for  the  present.  I  know  you 
will  be  glad  to  learn  that  I  have  a  man  here 

99 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

whom  I  care  to  follow.  It  is  the  man  of  whom 
Dick  told  us,  and  I  am  constantly  hearing  so 
much.  I  think  him  the  simplest  yet  grandest 
fellow  since  Denton,  the  professor  who  died 
during  my  freshman  year  at  college. 

" f  In  Memoriam'  might  have  been  written 
about  such  men  as  these,  *  All  subtilizing  in- 
tellect ...  all  comprehensive  tenderness,'  —  it 
conjures  the  image  ! 

"  I  lost  my  opportunity  of  meeting  Bax  Wef- 
fold  to-day.  He  called  at  the  mine  during  my 
absence,  but  to-morrow  I  shall  seek  him.  I 
shall  try  to  establish  the  peace  you  all  long  for 
and  expect.  There  are  grumblings,  but  no  pro- 
nounced ill-feeling.  You  will  have  faith  in  the 
work  of  my  hands,  I  am  sure,  and  in  my  turn  I 
shall  try  to  justify  it." 

His  hand  moved  mechanically  over  the  sheet, 
like  inarticulate  murmurs.  He  was  not  making 
words  or  sense.  Presently  the  pen  stuck  and 
spluttered. 

He  pushed  his  chair  back  passionately,  and 
once  more  strode  to  the  window.  He  did  not 
recognize  himself.  He  looked  out  once  more, 
and  once  more,  his  eyes  strayed  towards  Weffold's  ; 
only  this  time  he  was  conscious  of  the  gaze. 
He  forgot  his  long,  tranquil,  simple  boyhood. 

100 


Two  Letters 

He  forgot  he  had  ever  lived  in  New  York. 
Life  seemed  to  date  from  a  certain  marvellous 
morning  when  he  had  stood  outside  the  Short's 
Hotel  and  heard  a  man  snoring  as  he  looked  into 
that  little  stranger's  eyes. 

His  heart  throbbed  as  it  had  never  done  before 
in  extremestjoy  or  sorrow.  In  that  manner  he  may 
have  grown  as  much  older  as  it  seemed  afterward. 

So  long  as  lamps  glowed  in  those  distant  win- 
dows, he  stood.  In  that  strange  draining  sort  of 
stare  he  emerged  from  the  shadow-land  of  youth, 
with  its  beautiful  enveloping  mists  and  lofty  far- 
off  illusions. 

He  touched  the  great  substantial  prizes  men 
are  aiming  for  constantly.  He  drifted  far  away 
from  his  mother ;  but  it  was  the  waters  of  experi- 
ence he  set  sail  on,  and  the  currents  will  bring  us 
back  again. 

The  loneliness  crept  over,  clung  to,  sank  in 
him.  The  world  receded.  Hope  alone  was  left 
—  a  little  battle-field  he  stood  alone  on,  with  no 
shield,  no  sword,  save  his  gentle  heart. 

The  issues  became  enormous.  Once  —  this  is 
only  human  nature  —  their  height  became  satiri- 
cally marred  : 

"  Yer  can't  guess  the  great  josh  they  're  heving 
on  yer,  Weffold's  way.  There  's  a  form  of  ill 
feeling  — jealousy,  as  some  might  call  it  —  'tween 
them  and  the  Garnet  men.  They  call  yer  c  Jack 

101 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

the  Giant  Killer'  down  to  there" — and  then 
choruses  of  his  mighty  laughter. 

It  cut,  under  the  circumstances.  Claude  threw 
back  his  head,  as  if  he  were  suffering. 

When  his  eyes  wandered  again  to  Weffold's, 
the  lights  were  out. 

Then  he  re-wrote  his  mother's  letter,  leav- 
ing a  waste  of  charred  and  smudgy  paper  for  Mrs. 
Fitzsimmons  to  clear  away  the  next  day.  He 
tried  to  crowd  the  debris  on  to  his  candle-stick 
with  a  certain  gentle  sensitiveness  to  his  fingers, 
as  if  it  were  something  which  once  had  lived. 

His  hand  moved  mechanically  rather  than 
was  bid.  Eventually  he  saw  that  he  had  written 
barely  half  a  sheet.  There  seemed  a  certain  vague 
significance  to  the  merely  accidental  fact  that  it  was 
written  on  the  letter-head  of  their  great  syndicate. 

"DEAR  MOTHER,  —  I  am  singularly  tired  to-night,  so 
I  won't  try  to  bore  you.  The  dear  old  home  is  as  usual, 
I  trust  ?  For  the  rest,  Dick  will  read  his  letter  to  you 
—  yet,  on  a  day  like  this,  I  want  to  add  one  line  or 
so  of  my  own  to  prove  the  gratitude  and  humble  affec- 
tion of  one  who  owes  his  past  to  you." 

He  bore  down  a  little  on  the  three  letters. 
Presently  he  simply  added  this  as  if  it  were  part 
of  the  whole  thought  — 

"  Whatever  the  future  may  hold. 

«  CLAUDE." 

102 


A   BRANDING   SCENE 

IT  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.     Great 
dray  horses  and  heavy  wagons  toiled  up  the 
road    warmly.     Claude    passed    these    from 
time  to  time.     The  sky  was  one  vast  canopy  of 
intense  blue  with  no  finely  feminine  effect  in  lace. 
Now  that  is  both  poetic  and  Campbellite,  if  you 
knew  it.     It  means  clouds  were  strictly  tabooed. 

As  for  the  country  where  this  occurred,  much 
cannot  be  said  about  it  unless  one  repeats  unto 
the  seventieth  time,  so  I  will  try  to  say  the  little. 
You  should  give  a  child  a  piece  of  paper,  so,  and 
imagine  it  to  be  colored  brown  and  then  to  have 
faded  yellow ;  and  on  this  draw  the  rude  out- 
lines of  barren  hills  and  those  immense  wastes  of 
old  mother  earth  little  children  delight  in.  Then 
the  spear  of  grass  or  so  is  as  inevitable  as  the 
little  house  they  '11  dot  down  on  the  bleakest 
desert  or  highest  hill  —  the  little  house  we  too 
drew  when  we  were  little  children  —  the  middle 
door,  and  the  sloping  roof,  and  the  little  many- 
paned  country  windows,  the  back  entrance  to 
this  edifice  being  ever  studiously  left  out. 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Claude  was  on  his  way  to  Weffold's.  He  spoke 
to  a  teamster  or  so  as  he  walked  along,  and  they 
called  back  something  to  him  which  was  rather 
inarticulate,  yet  pleasant,  he  judged.  He  was 
rather  a  contrast  to  them,  and,  as  he  passed,  they 
made  some  such  remarks  as  this,  one  to  another : 

"He  ain't  much  for  size  —  funny  how  sich 
little  men  get  all  the  brains." 

"  Dunno  as  it  is  brains  so  much  as  luck  — 
though  can't,  for  my  part,  see  what  size  hes  to  do 
with  it." 

"  Size  hes,  I  say,  —  since  I  was  borned  seemed 
tuk  fur  hard  draft  some  kind  —  Brother  Josh, 
now  he  was  little  fellow,  fell  right  into  snap 
t'  once.  Jes'  has  to  set  all  day  on  stool  in 
elevator  —  holiday  whenever  a  boss  dies." 

After  a  long  while  he  added :  "  Wholesale 
building  in  N'  Orleans." 

"  Two  story  building,  s'pose  ?  " 

"  Guess,  yes  !  " 

"  S'pose  large  's  hotel  at  Tucson  ?  " 

"  Spect  's  something  like  it." 

"  Mebbe  higher  ?" 

"  'T  ain't  ever  been  my  way  to  swear  on  word 
of  my  relations.  Everything  relations  tell  ye 
more  than  likely  to  be  a  fill.  Take  ye  to 
practise  on.  If  it's  s'cessful,  spring  it  around 
likewise.  So  jes'  because  Josh  said  it  was  eight 
stories,  't  ain't  my  way  to  spread  his  yarn." 

104 


A  Branding  Scene 

"  That  is  a  good  'un.  Great  josher,  yer  brother, 
I  guess  ?  " 

"  'T  ain't  I  mistrust  mebbe  there  is  buildings 
higher  in  New  York  or  Lunnon,  but  no  whar 
else." 

"  Guess,  maybe,  'Frisco  ?  " 

Both  laughed.  It  touched  their  very  hearts, 
that  name.  It  represented  ten  times  more  than 
London  or  Paris  to  them.  It  was  a  Carcassonne 
which  was  not  too  far  off.  Some  day  they  in- 
tended to  go  there,  —  some  year  when  the  red 
lights  had  not  burned  too  brightly,  and  they 
had  resisted  the  inclination  to  empty  their  hard- 
earned  money  into  the  tills  of  the  Palace  Saloon. 
They  had  great  dreams  of  the  long  ride  on  the 
train  —  the  fairy-land  they  would  pass  through 
in  Southern  California.  It  was  printed  on  a  fence 
or  hut  now  and  again  by  that  wonderful  Railroad 
Company  which  their  'Frisco  paper  caricatured 
so  heavily.  But  the  honor  of  a  great  Railroad 
Company  is  too  immense  a  subject  for  me  to  be 
responsible  for. 

They  had  ideas,  too,  of  going  into  some  of 
these  wonderful  high  hotels  and  saying  in  an  off- 
hand manner :  "  Guess  ground  floor  will  do  if  y' 
please,"  and  then  sotto  voce,  to  their  Self-esteem 
and  Self-protection  —  "ain't  got  no  dam  green 
sucker  this  time  to  make  no  bon-fire  of — middle 
of  night." 

I05 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

But  meanwhile  they  laughed  at  'Frisco.  She 
is  the  little  girl  who  is  before  the  foot-lights  out 
West.  They  hear  great  stories  of  her  ;  how  she 
can  dance  and  laugh  and  coquette  and  kick  high 

—  far  above  her  staider  sisters.     And  the  West 
goes  mad  about  her  because  she  is  their  very 
own.     They   knew  her  when    she  was   a  baby. 
They  forget  the  possible  shame  in  the  joy  of  her 
being  somebody.     Bad,  mad,  wild  little  girl ! 

Then  we  in  the  flies  see  the  acting  done  and 
the  folly  finished. 

And  we  see  the  little  player  in  her  humble 
gown  run  forth  in  the  night  to  some  humble 
dwelling  where  burns  a  household  fire  on  a 
virtuous  hearth.  And  we  smile  and  say  like 
good  old  a  Kempis  :  "  What  matter  if  speech  be 
good  or  ill  ?  This  is  real  San  Francisco  — 
courage  and  love  and  virtue.  We  will  let  such 
cities  and  such  women  guard  their  own.  They 
are  worthy." 

What  matter  if  speech  be  good  or  ill  ? 

The  driver  touched  up  the  team  with  his  light 
harmless  switching  about  their  sides.  He  snapped 
the  long  thong  with  the  quick  hand  of  a  master 

—  heavy  a  fellow  as   he  was.      His   companion 
shied   bits   of  rubbish    from    his   pocket   at    the 
horses'  ears.     Presently   he    said,  not    sheepish, 
but  with  good,  round  interest : 

1 06 


A  Branding  Scene 

"  'Mother  thing  I  hern  lots  about  in  a  big 
city,  't  ain't  up  to  country  in  my  way  of  think- 
ing. Fellow  has  to  be  pretty  careful  of  his 
actions.  It 's  the  cops.  Guess  they  're  pretty 
b'lligerent." 

They  went  on  arguing  it  out.  Of  course  they 
meant  policemen.  It  occurred  to  one  that  this 
body  of  men  lay  in  wait  for  strangers  as  well  as 
evil-doers,  for  the  innocent  as  well  as  guilty,  and 
waged  war  against  them  according  to  its  own 
sweet  mood.  He  thought  there  o'  t'  be  some- 
thing to  forbid  'em,  like  vigilance  committee  of 
citizens.  He  s'posed  if  a  man  looked  cross-eyed, 
—  whop  !  and  he'd  go  in  jail !  It  was  a  vague 
terror,  which  hovered  over  that  dream  of  a 
'Frisco  trip. 

The  driver  did  n't  know.  Had  V  hern  they 
was  a  hard  crowd  altogether.  Fur  his  part, 
though,  guessed  if  a  fellow  kept  in  fair  good 
practice,  and  hed  no  reason  fur  to  feel  white- 
livered,  guessed  his  right  arm  might  'complish 
wonders ;  if  needs  be,  there  was  his  gun. 

Perhaps  in  the  very  team  behind  this  another 
conversation  was  taking  place. 

It  said : 

"  There  is  the  young  superintendent  gone  a- 
sparking  Weffold's  girl,  I  guess." 

«  Who  is  girl  to  Weffold  ?  " 
107 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  Mees  Bax's  sister.  Got  as  pretty  a  look  on 
horse  as  Mees  Bax's  self  almost." 

"I  knowed  the  time  Mees  Bax  was  a-frighted 

D 

plum  to  death  at  mere  sight  of  a  bronco.  Hern 
her  sister  'd  come,  but  scarce  believe  it  ?  So 
young  Garnet 's  soft  on  the  Eastern  gel,  is  he  — 
where  'd  hear  that  ?  " 

"  Wai,  Shorty  drove  'em  in  together.  'N' 
Boston  Jim  r'sponsible  fur  the  saying  that  he 
surmised  'em  to  be  man  and  wife,  a-keeping  it 
secret.  Something  about  'em  led  him  to  think 
on  it." 

"  Guess  that  's  not  straight  from  present 
'ndications." 

"  No,  surmise  not.  Boston  's  a  great  one  to 
spin  a  yarn.  Done  almos'  everything  for  a 
livin',  Boston  Jim.  Oncet  use  ter  type-set  on 
papers,  and  hearin'  so  much  's  ain't  true,  doubt- 
less disfiggered  his  brain  a  trifle ;  but  should  n't 
wonder  if  they  made  a  match  on  it.  Kind  of 
coincident'l  like,  unless  they  came  together  on 
purpose.  Then  it's  sure  pop." 

"Well  that  may  be.  Campbell  hes'  'spres- 
sion  covers  the  case,  to  my  mind.  *  Them  as  has 
ull  get.'  'T  would  n't  have  hurt  him  to  have  set 
up  to  some  of  the  girls  in  town.  Dick  Garnet 
made  his  money  here,  and  it  would  n't  have  hurt 
this  fellar  to  intermingle  like  with  real  popula- 
tion. S'm  mighty  fine  girls  in  town.  Gal  to 

108 


A  Branding  Scene 

Weffold's  stuck  up  like,  I  jedge,  Mees  Bax  was 
afore  her." 

"  Don't  think  Mees  Bax  kind  you  call  stuck- 
up  woman.  Never  go  t'  the  ranch  for  my  part, 
but  spreads  out  lunch  or  dinner  with  'r  own 
hands,  after  unloading  or  loading  is  done,  and 
has  a  kind  word  to  speak  for  the  missus.  Don't 
call  Mees  Bax  zactly  stuck  up." 

These  were  the  men  Claude  passed  from  time 
to  time.  He  took  the  wide  path,  by  and  by, 
along  the  barbed  wire  fence  which  separated  the 
range  from  the  public. 

He  came  gradually  to  the  inner  yards.  Busy 
hens  scurried  out  now  and  then,  to  fly  back  as  he 
approached  them. 

A  little  sickly,  useless  calf  lay  amongst  some 
attempt  at  a  garden.  It  had  a  bowl  of  milk 
placed  very  near,  and  nosed  at  it  now  and  again 
wearily.  A  tin  soldier  of  little  Don  Weffold's 
was  placed  under  a  stunted  fruit  tree.  He  was 
plainly  guarding  the  invalid.  The  adobe  house 
he  then  came  across  was  of  a  better  class  than  the 
town  dwellings  even  of  like  nature,  —  though  it 
was  not  up  to  the  new-fangled  mine  building 
which  he  was  to  have  had. 

It  was  dull  red,  as  is  natural,  and  a  story  and  a 
half  in  height.  The  door  stood  wide  open,  and 
displayed  a  cheery  yet  cramped  little  hall.  Cur- 

109 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

tains  (home-made),  such  as  might  belong  to  some 
pretty  flat  in  a  city,  completely  transfigured  the 
front. 

It  told  of  that  anomaly  which  alone  can  trans- 
form such  scant  accommodations  in  remote  wilds 
like  this,  —  a  woman's  presence  and  a  lady's 
taste. 

Dick  had  once  entered  the  same  little  gate,  a 
tramp,  a  man  with  barely  soles  to  his  shoes  ;  a 
blot  on  the  prosperity  of  the  country.  The  gate 
was  still  manipulated  by  the  same  rusty  earth- 
filled  cans.  Perhaps  the  same  —  let  us  not  go 
into  the  subject.  The  path  was  very  pretty, 
very  short ;  and  yet  on  it  some  rose-bushes 
with  a  little  faint  bloom  or  so,  far  apart,  were 
fighting  desperately  for  air  enough  to  breathe 
and  live.  A  great  sturdy  cactus  grew  near  the 
stoop.  It  needed  no  rain,  no  toil,  no  hopes  and 
doubts  lavished  on  it.  It  was  a  queer  old  plant 
to  the  little  future  Weffold  of  all.  "  It  no  is  a 
plant,"  —  he  had  talked  it  out  to  Bax  one  night, 
"  God  no  could  make,  poppie ;  him  prickles  stick 
God's  hands." 

And  Bax  said  nought  of  the  infiniteness  of  that 
wonderful  God  which  came  to  his  little  lad's  lips 
so  often.  He  knew  very  little  himself.  And  he 
had  only  learned  it  from  love,  not  lessons ;  so  he 
drew  the  little  form  near,  and  said  with  that  mock 
seriousness  so  dear  to  children : 

no 


A  Branding  Scene 

"  The  cactus  is  a  great  clock ;  so  it  does  not 
matter  much  who  made  it,  so  long  as  we  do  what 
the  clock  tells  little  boys." 

It  was  a  bright  way  of  getting  the  child  to  bed, 
when  the  great  red-winged  grasshoppers  went  to 
"  roosth "  at  night  on  each  long,  pointed  leaf. 
Don  grasped  such  simple  facts  and  made  quaint 
combinations  of  them.  He  never  doubted  the 
suggested  tie.  Often  his  lone  little  self  he  would 
go  out  toward  the  pretty  twilight,  and  see  these 
ugly  things  which  were  God's,  like  himself,  climb- 
ing up  the  leaves.  He  watched  them  wonderingly. 
Then  he  would  go  and  stand  tiredly  against  his 
mother.  All  his  friends  had  gone  to  bed,  she 
knew.  Something  lonely  in  his  little  leaning 
form  would  tell  her:  His  bed  time,  poor  little 
man  !  Ah  !  it  is  sweet  to  be  one  of  God's  very 
own  —  a  little  child  in  the  country. 

Sal  wandered  out  from  somewhere  soon.  She 
told  Claude  the  Maj'r  was  off,  Lawd-knows-where, 
as  if  it  were  a  resort  of  some  kind.  Mr.  Bax  had 
taken  the  young  lady  and  his  own  folks  down  to 
the  tail-end  of  a  round-up  just  below.  Did  he 
want  to  see  Mr.  Bax  or  the  ladies  ?  Well,  if  he 
wanted  to  see  them  all,  they  was  down  a  bit,  on 
the  road,  where  he  could  see  the  running  around 
and  the  hollering. 

Claude  walked  off  with  apparent  calmness  in 
the  direction  named. 

in 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

She  wondered  why  a  young  man  like  him,  who 
could  afford  it,  did  not  wear  a  diamond  or  so  on 
his  hand  and  more  in  his  shirt-front.  In  his 
turn,  he  tried  to  solve  her  reason  for  asking  him 
which  member  of  the  family  he  was  particularly 
in  search  of,  since  all  were  in  one  place. 

As  he  neared  the  scene  ahead,  he  became  tossed 
and  torn,  figuratively  speaking,  by  the  one  over- 
whelming desire,  —  that  they  like  him. 

He,  Claude  Garnet,  hero  of  Sunday  morning 
magazines  and  seminaries,  a  person  not  afraid  of 
cops,  nor  sky-splitting  edifices,  nor  that  thing 
with  a  woman's  fair  face  for  men  —  the  gam- 
bling evil. 

He  saw  a  strange  and  vivid  scene.  The  sun 
was  not  so  warm  as  the  blue  of  the  sky.  It 
seemed  a  diffusion.  Underneath,  on  the  little 
plain  which  lay  between  the  south  hills  and  Wef- 
fold's,  Claude  caught  sharp  moving  views  of  men 
and  cattle. 

There  were  ten  men  or  so.  They  seemed  to 
represent  the  cow-boy  proper,  but  that  is  a  stage 
name  for  him.  On  his  own  heath  he  is  a  cow- 
puncher. 

When  the  little  scene  was  nearing  its  end  there 
were  no  cows  in  sight  to  speak  of.  In  the  dis- 
tance their  occasional  bellowing  was  kept  up,  as 
if  in  wondering  protest  still. 

112 


A  Branding  Scene 

The  men  had  not  dispersed.  It  had  not  taken 
more  than  half  an  hour  or  so,  and  they  were  still 
standing  rather  undecided  what  to  do.  One  of 
them  started  to  scatter  the  dying,  branding  fire 
with  his  foot,  casting  furtive  glances  as  he  did  so 
toward  the  ladies.  Bax  Weffold  said  kindly 
then  : 

"  Boys,  you  have  met  my  wife.  I  want  to 
introduce  my  sister-in-law  to  you." 

He  slipped  off  his  horse  as  he  spoke,  and  stood 
in  the  little  group  amongst  them.  Some  of  the 
lassoers  were  mounted  still.  A  few  figures,  fan- 
tastically shirted  and  sombrely  breeched,  stepped 
off  a  bit  for  their  horses,  which  were  standing 
patiently  here  and  there. 

An  elderly  fellow  answered  Bax.  He  had 
passed  the  time  of  women,  but  not  of  wine  and 
cards.  It  was  said  he  had  once  done  tricky  work 
in  some  Southern  Senate  and  stepped  across  the 
border  to  avoid  the  consequences.  "  I  became 
too  popular,  boys,"  he  was  wont  to  conclude, 
rubbing  his  formerly  sleek  hands  and  smiling. 
Down  amongst  the  cows  and  the  cactus,  the 
glory  of  our  birth-right  and  the  mess  of  pottage 
become  hopelessly  involved  someway. 

"  Thanks  to  you,  Weffold,"  he  said  with  that 

suave  charm  of  voice  and  manner  no  frontiersland 

can  bear,  less  breed.     "  No,  but  thanks  to  you, 

Weffold.     It  won't  be  worth  while  for  Mrs.  Wef- 

8  113 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

fold  —  she  has  a  hard  enough  time  enduring  the 
country  without  mothering  us  hungry  whelps  to 
boot." 

Bax  did  not  try  to  speak.  He  was  not  de- 
ceived. He  knew  it  was  not  Mrs.  WefFold,  nor 
the  thought  of  supper,  nor  any  flimsy  conven- 
tional excuse  such  as  that.  He  had  lived  too 
long  in  Arizona.  He  had  been  too  long  her  son. 
He  had  fought  too  long  with  the  thing  whose 
strength  he  now  felt,  as  men  can  feel  in  conflict 
the  strength  and  passion  of  their  foe.  There  was 
an  almost  irresistible  brotherhood  in  the  words  he 
next  uttered  ;  yet  these  were  all : 

"Walk  over  with  me,  boys  ;  come,  put  up  your 
horses.  My  tall  girl  won't  take  no,  I  am  sure." 

He  said  it  simply,  as  a  man  might  speak  of  his 
wife  to  his  friends.  The  former  superintendent 
had  criticised  this  once. 

"  WefFold  shows  his  country  training  in  those 
little  ways,"  he  said.  He  was  an  ignorant  man, 
and  did  not  know  the  wooden  fence  between  rich 
and  poor,  haughty  and  humble,  was  merely  a 
mythical  one.  Many  people  do  not  know  it, 
though  they  long  since  ceased  believing  in  Santa 
Claus. 

He  stood  amongst  them.  He  was  not  belit- 
tling his  position  as  their  master  —  rather  aggran- 
dizing the  purpose  of  all  life.  His  keen  eyes 
swept  the  crowd.  They  did  not  meet  his  gaze. 

114 


A  Branding  Scene 

They  were  looking  with  shifty  indecision  at  the 
ringleader,  who  had  once  become  too  popular. 
They  would  go  to  Weffold's  if  he  said  so.  An- 
other time  they  might  have  gone  anyway,  just 
because  Bax  Weffbld  asked  them. 

Bax's  gaze  rested  on  the  man  in  question. 
This  latter  did  not  look  so  complacent  as 
formerly.  His  cheek-bones  had  colored  a  bit, 
and  his  eyes  gained  a  sort  of  glitter,  as  if  the 
burden  of  these  many  minds  had  hold  of  his 
every  nerve  and  impulse. 

"  We  'd  planned  a  little  time  up-town,"  he 
commenced,  and  someway,  at  the  very  thought  of 
renunciation,  the  thirst  became  too  much  for  him. 
His  tone  changed  ;  it  grew  tarter.  Every  man 
grasped  his  bridle  at  it,  and  the  waiting  horses 
responded  instantly. 

"  We  will  put  on  to  Hope,"  he  said,  "  and 
see  what's  doing.  Thanks  to  you,  Weffold, 
no!" 

They  made  a  fine  sight  as  they  rode  off. 
They  rode  in  a  bunch,  upright,  well  clad,  touched 
by  their  bits  of  color. 

As  they  passed  Mrs.  Bax  and  the  little  lad  and 
the  sister,  every  hat  went  off  as  with  one  accord. 
City  men  could  not  have  done  it  with  more 
respect.  Then  they  put  on  to  town,  a  straight 
line  and  an  unswerving  purpose  in  the  cause  of 

"5 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

evil.  Would  Right  were  able  to  command  the 
same! 

They  were  soon  lost  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

Rel  turned  impetuously : 

"  We  '11  walk  on.  Let  Bax  overtake  us.  He 
looks  so  funny  after  his  temperance  efforts  fail." 

"  Do  they  always?  "  asked  Robbie. 

"  Nearly  always,"  responded  his  wife.  She 
wrestled  a  bit  with  her  own  humor.  Suddenly 
she  cried  out  feebly  : 

"  Oh,  Robbie,  Robbie,  it  is  almost  dreadful  to 
love  every  outcast  and  scamp  in  creation  through 
a  child." 

Robbie  did  not  make  much  answer.  She  did 
not  even  seem  to  be  listening.  Her  color  was 
more  uneven.  Now  and  again  she  turned  and 
cast  a  look  behind  her  toward  her  brother-in-law. 
He  stood  a  while  just  as  they  had  left  him. 
Then  another  figure  stepped  from  the  plain  and 
joined  him. 

After  that  Robbie  ran  on  with  the  child.  She 
startled  him  into  shrill,  joyous  laughter. 

Mrs.  Bax  smiled  as  she  heard  it,  half  uncon- 
sciously. 


116 


ON   WOMAN  — "IN  OUR   HOURS   OF 
EASE  " 

CLAUDE  hesitated  as  he  reached  Weffold. 
"  I  'm  afraid  I  cannot  accept  your  kind 
invitation  to  supper.     My  landlady  ex- 
pects me  at  home." 

Bax  smiled. 

"  That  is  what  my  sister-in-law  calls  a  munici- 
pal subterfuge,"  he  said,  keeping  the  gate  open. 
"  She  has  dropped  hers  here." 

Claude  passed  before  him  silently.  He  had  no 
idle  words  for  this  great  quiet-toned  fellow ;  and 
we  are  apt  to  speak  idly  after  dwelling  in  the 
city  —  the  best  of  us. 

The  front  of  the  house  lay  in  a  cool,  wide 
shadow.  There  was  no  porch;  only  a  wooden 
stoop  and  some  great  common  chairs  scattered 
here  and  there  near  it.  The  two  men  made  for 
these,  and  sat  down  in  attitudes  characteristic  of 
them. 

Around  Bax  Weffold  was  the  constant  calm  of 
a  man  who  had  been  dealt  his  hand  and  was 
playing,  but  against  luck,  courageously.  There 
was  not  much  hope  in  it  —  there  never  had  been, 

117 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

for  the  matter  of  that.  But  there  is  something 
almost  heroic  in  laying  down  losing  cards 
steadily.  He  was  a  careful  player.  Some  day 
he  would  rise  from  the  table  and  call  for  help 
from  God,  for  there  are  times  when  less  will  not 
suffice  us. 

But  just  now  the  element  of  doom  was  crushed 
for  the  time  by  the  good  motive  he  'd  had  for 
gambling.  Without  that  motive  his  play  might 
not  have  been  so  steady  —  quite. 

His  head,  bared,  with  that  soft,  thick,  unruly 
hair  on  his  forehead,  was  that  of  a  scholar. 
Under  such  circumstances,  his  eyes  would  have 
been  very  handsome  and  intelligent,  the  very 
least  one  said  of  them ;  but  in  Bax  they  were 
simply  and  soulfully  his  own.  One  grew  to 
know  a  strange  man  through  them.  Robbie  did 
not  know  what  they  held  until  after  a  certain 
study.  Then  it  was  the  plains,  some  books,  and 
a  woman,  she  said. 

He  gave  but  one  look  at  the  face  before  him ; 
now  the  opportunity  had  come.  There  was 
something  of  the  young  man  with  much  before 
him  in  Claude's  position  just  then.  He  was  lean- 
ing a  little  forward  and  studying  Bax  Weffold 
eagerly,  in  the  way  young  people  have  of  forget- 
ting hypocrisy. 

His  face  was  pale,  clean-shaved,  very  boyish. 
He  had  taken  off  his  hat  for  some  wild  idea  of 

118 


On  Woman  — "  In  our  Hours  of  Ease'' 

manners,  which  Arizona  is  not  up  to  just  yet, 
and  his  hair  lay  black,  close,  and  rather  trim 
above  his  very  ordinary  forehead.  Speaking 
ever  so  kindly,  as  authors  will,  it  was  the  clean, 
kind  face  of  a  gentleman ;  but,  to  quote  Miss 
Laurence,  there  was  n't  a  single  feature  significant 
enough  to  honor  his  distinction  as  a  millionaire, 
though  she  left  untold  just  what  sort  of  a  nose 
might  do  it. 

To  Bax  the  simplicity  was  an  almost  pitiful 
appeal.  We  are  so  directly  young  and  unneces- 
sarily responsible  but  once.  It  was  the  stamp  of 
an  educated  soul,  however  inexperienced  its  owner. 
Many  of  the  young  experts  and  speculators  from 
the  East  had  a  far  greater  dash  in  their  manner. 
They  almost  rattled  their  money  through  their 
speech.  It  is  not  the  man  who  does  this  who 
is  familiar  now,  or  was  in  generations  past,  with 
riches. 

"  I  should  like  Don  to  grow  up  into  just  such 
a  young  fellow,"  he  said  that  night  under  the 
heavenly  sky  ("  star-sown,"  that  is  also  Mr. 
Lowell)  to  the  woman  who  was  a  component 
part  to  his  eyes. 

She  looked  up  as  they  walked. 

"You  are  paying  him  the  greatest  compliment 
you  can,  Bax,  if  you  only  knew  it ;  only  I  can't 
be  that  liberal,  dear  stupid.  There  is  another 
man  Don  must  grow  more  and  more  like,  until 

119 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

he  is  just  that  image.  He  is  my  little  child,  and 
my  hope  is  not  stunted  for  him ;  but  sometimes 
it  almost  seems  he  can't.  No  —  one  —  can." 

These  last  words  fell  into  the  darkness  softly ; 
so  quietly,  we  can  call  it  murmured.  Bax  had 
commenced  to  tease  her,  to  say,  "  What  man,  my 
love?"  in  his  cattle  king,  not  his  husband 
manner,  but  he  stopped  at  the  wealth  her  voice 
suggested.  He  could  not  bear  to  destroy  the 
humor. 

More  than  this,  he  knew. 

There  were  many  questions  and  facts  Claude 
wanted  to  put  to  Bax  Weffold,  —  things  he  was 
either  unable  to  discuss  with  Mr.  Campbell,  or 
Mr.  Campbell  was  unable  to  discuss  with  him. 
He  wanted  Bax  to  like  him,  to  be  his  friend  ;  he 
wished  he  could  strike  a  true  note  right  from 
the  start.  But  the  first  words  he  said  had  the 
brand  of  the  tenderfoot  on  them  hopelessly. 

"That  was  a  capital  round-up  I  was  lucky 
enough  to  witness,"  he  said.  "  You  get  used  to 
such  things,  being  a  native,  but  it  is  quite  a  treat 
for  a  foreigner." 

Bax  looked  beyond  him,  across  to  the  hills. 
He  felt  tired.  In  a  very  physical  way  he  pon- 
dered briefly  on  "  What  is  a  man's  duty  to  his 
friends  in  error  ?  "  Then  he  said  gently  : 

"  I  don't  think  we  can  be  that  presumptuous 
1 20 


On  Woman  —  "  In  our  Hours  of  Ease  " 

to-day.  It  was  what  my  wife  calls  play-acting 
for  the  benefit  of  my  sister-in-law.  She  wanted 
to  see  a  round-up,  the  genuine  thing,  she  said. 
Of  course  you  have  never  met  her ;  but  she  is  a 
young  lady  with  a  will  of  her  own.  It  is  not  dis- 
loyal to  say  that.  She  is  very  proud  of  it, 
almost  as  much  so  as  if  it  were  a  new  bonnet. 

"  There  is  a  round-up  on  Thursday  at  Skeleton 
Canon.  This  is  Tuesday.  You  see  the  young 
lady  has  been  doing  some  good  work  amongst  a 
few  of  the  cow-punchers  round  and  about,  so 
several  of  them  invited  her  to  it.  Until  my  wife 
vetoed  Robbie's  going,  that  young  person  had 
but  one  worry,  —  that  of  inventing  legitimate 
excuses  to  the  two  whose  invitations  she  did  not 
accept." 

He  dragged  at  his  moustache  over  a  quaint 
little  smile.  "  I  don't  know  whether  you  Ve 
ever  been  in  the  same  delicate  position,"  he  said. 
"  One  man,  two  quarrelling  women,  and  one  of 
them  his  wife  —  it  almost  makes  one  resort  to 
feminine  measures.  A  man  would  have  run,  I 
am  sure,  but  I  have  been  married  so  long  now, 
it  is  rather  easy  to  borrow  a  better  method. 

"  I  temporized  toward  this  result.  Our  men 
had  finished  their  rounding  work,  but  some  of 
the  calves  were  still  unbranded.  I  asked  them  to 
finish  it  here.  So  it  was  not  the  real  thing,  you 
see,  only  a  very  small  part  of  it. 

121 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  She  does  not  know  any  better,  and  a  round- 
up is  not  the  place  exactly  for  a  girl  to  spend  a 
day.  You  see  it  would  mean  that  before  she  was 
finished. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  think,"  he  concluded, 
"  we  're  not  above  municipal  subterfuges  after 
all  ?  " 

Claude  answered,  "  No,"  very  gravely ;  "  not 
if  the  motive  were  good." 

Young  people  are  apt  to  be  extreme  on  a  char- 
acteristic, and  soberness  was  one  of  Claude's. 
Then  he  was  overwhelmed  in  a  measure  by  being 
thrust  so  face  to  face  with  his  divinity's  life  —  the 
commonplace  portion  of  it.  Yet  presently  a  wild 
and  unsought  joy  came  to  him  over  the  possible 
expression  in  her  wonderfully  straightforward 
eyes,  if  this  childish  deception  on  her  were  dis- 
covered. 

"  But  I  am  not  going  to  deceive  you,"  said 
Bax.  "  Perhaps  the  mine  won't  need  you  Thurs- 
day ?  Simmons  has  proved  himself  a  good  fel- 
low there.  Our  men  are  going  over  toward 
morning  to  help  the  fellows  out.  I  am  going 
too." 

"Why  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  Claude  abruptly. 

"  They  need  me,  or  I  need  it,"  he  answered, 
smiling,  not  penetrating  the  mystery.  "  My  tall 
girl  has  n't  yet  concluded  just  what  excuse  to  take. 
You  see  I  spent  a  year  or  so  in  the  city  —  San 

122 


On  Woman —  "In  our  Hours  of  Ease" 

Francisco  —  that  is  always  the  city  here,  —  and 
the  fogs  were  more  than  any  one  raised  here 
could  manage." 

In  all  their  conversation,  it  was  the  only  refer- 
ence he  made  to  that  leaf  in  his  life. 

"  So  my  women  folks  found  something  to  fill 
their  hearts  and  heads  for  life,  but  I  can't  see 
they  are  very  grateful  for  it.  I  am  pampered 
unmercifully  at  times.  Don  is  n't  kept  home 
with  greater  conscience.  This  has  been  a  bad 
year,  too.  A  man  gets  sick  for  the  rain." 

Claude  did  not  feel  the  real  homesickness  in 
this  next. 

"  I  could  not  give  up  going  Thursday.  It 
will  be  my  first  round-up  this  year.  What  I  've 
been  coming  to,  Mr.  Garnet  —  " 

"  Just  Garnet,  if  you  please,"  said  Claude. 
That,  too,  was  very  boyish,  and  was  accompanied 
by  a  bashful  flush. 

"  Garnet,  is  an  invitation  to  get  up  at  three 
o'clock,  to  come  down  here  by  starlight,  and  ride 
a  Weffbld  mustang  over  to  the  camp  with  us ; 
to  get  thrown  if  you  don't  know  how  to  ride ; 
but  you  do,  I  am  sure  of  that. 

"  To  rough  it  all  day ;  to  try  some  of  old 
Bill's  famous  hot  bread  and  not  get  indigestion, 
you  're  working  so  hard  with  the  herd  ;  to  see 
the  boys  master  that  wild  mass  of  cattle  ;  to  see 
starlight  fade  ;  and  day  come  and  go  ;  to  — " 

123 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

He  caught  himself  up  with  a  little  funny 
impatience. 

"  To  live  for  a  day,"  ended  Bax. 

A  flush  was  well  over  Claude  's  face  again,  but 
this  time  it  looked  merely  grateful. 

"  Thank  you,  and  I  '11  come,"  he  said. 

They  did  not  speak  then  for  several  minutes ; 
and  in  this  time  a  child  clad  in  leathern  breeches, 
a  miniature  undress  shirt,  such  as  is  affected  by 
cow-boys,  a  great  collar  to  boot,  and  a  rough 
steeple-crowned  form  of  straw  sombrero,  appeared 
around  the  corner  of  the  house.  The  hat 
slanted  away  from  his  face,  and  showed  it  with 
tender  grave  little  curves,  all  dyed  a  very  tender 
comical  little  brown.  He  watched  them  with 
great  wide  eyes,  and  then  circled  solemnly  off,  still 
looking. 

"  He  looks  very  much  like  you,"  Claude 
remarked  with  no  other  preface. 

"  Yes,  so  they  say,"  answered  Bax,  "  except 
the  hair." 

His  love  was  too  great  and  simple  to  feel  such 
little  home  distinctions  as  this  might  be  insignifi- 
cant to  a  stranger.  He  held  out  his  arms,  and 
said,  "  Come,  Don  ;  "  and  still  watching  Claude 
and  making  a  wide  path  around  him,  the  child 
reached  his  father's  embrace.  He  had  a  canton 
flannel  elephant  in  his  arms  —  once  gray,  now 
very  dirty.  It  was  his  sole  companion.  It  often 

124 


On  Woman  —  "In  our  Hours  of  Ease  " 

lay  near  to  his  heart.  At  night  it  snuggled  close 
to  him,  borrowing  much  warmth  from  contact 
with  the  little  form.  It  was  part  of  his  every  play 
and  hope.  He  wove  quaint,  inconsistent  little 
stories  connected  with  its  mysterious  past. 

He  did  not  seem  to  mind  Claude  now.  He 
held  on  to  his  treasure  with  one  arm  and  hugged 
his  father.  What  he  said  was  aloud,  but  not  in- 
tended for  any  pair  of  ears  but  one. 

"  Me  luvs  oo  worser  nor  any  sing,"  it  was. 

"  You  should  not  let  your  mother  hear  that, 
little  man,"  said  Bax,  trying  not  to  look  soft  by 
smiling. 

"  Would  his  mother  care  ?  "  asked  Claude. 

"  Oh,  no,"  returned  Bax ;  "  you  must  n't 
mind  such  domestic  hostilities  at  Weffold.  It 's 
only  a  way  we  have." 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  ask  him  to  shake  hands 
with  me,"  Claude  said  next,  when  Bax  made  a 
gesture  toward  the  action.  "  I  want  you  all  to 
like  me  for  myself." 

He  included  the  child  with  no  effort  at  it, 
and  those  things  soften  a  parent's  heart.  Bax 
did  not  try  to  answer  the  honest  little  hope 
in  words.  He  was  wont  to  show  his  best  in 
actions. 

"  I  don't  know  where  my  women  ran,"  he 
said.  "  It's  a  way  they  have  when  a  stranger's 
expected.  It 's  a  trace  of  barbarity  you  will  learn 

I25 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

to  excuse,  especially  when  they  make  up  for  it  at 
dinner."     Still  he  said  to  the  little  child  : 

"  Don,  where  did  mamma  go  ?  " 

He  spoke  just  as  if  they  were  little  chums  or 
big  friends. 

"  Mommie  go  inside,"  said  the  child,  "  to  her 
own  room  wi'  Robbie." 

"  Wi '  Aunt  Robbie  ?  " 

"Wi'  Robbie  — ayer." 

"  You  see,"  said  Bax  at  this  defeat,  "  Robbie's 
dignity  won't  support  my  grand  principles  of 
discipline  in  this  matter.  I  can't  make  her 
understand  it  is  all  her  fault." 

"  What  is  mamma  doing,"  he  asked,  "  making 
us  something  nice  for  supper  ?  " 

The  child  thought  a  second. 

"  No,  mommie  fixer  her  hair,"  he  returned, 
after  his  little  halt  was  ended.  He  had  a  very 
queer,  ragged,  tender- toned  little  speech,  full  of 
lonely  little  fancies ;  a  vagrant  little  voice  all 
told,  as  if  it  belonged  to  Dreamland.  He  often 
added  er  to  conventional  words,  making  quaint 
little  outcasts  of  them,  while  the  one-syllabled 
words  were  prim  little  quakers. 

"This  is  very  interesting,"  said  Bax,  not 
looking  at  his  guest,  yet  letting  the  subject  take 
a  certain  whimsical  form  of  entertainment,  iron- 
ical and  yet  droll : 

"  And  is  Robbie  fixer  her  hair,  also  ?  " 
126 


On  Woman  —  "In  our  Hours  of  Ease ' 

One  could  see  it  was  a  climax  by  Don's  face, 
it  warmed  up  to  the  subject  so.  Its  expression 
was  tenderly  flexible  to  moods  —  the  one  trace 
of  his  mother  in  him.  He  waved  his  hands 
as  he  spoke  in  quaint,  quick,  untrained  little 
gestures. 

"  Robbie  acter  bery  naughty,"  he  commenced. 
"  Her  pull  down  her  hair,  then  put  up,  then 
when  mommie  say  it  bery  pitty,  her  pull  all 
down  again  an'  scold  mommie  bery  hard,"  he 
ended  innocently. 

"Ah,"  cried  Bax,  "I  deserve  that."  He 
looked  so  sorry,  Claude  said,  though  not  al- 
together for  that  reason : 

"  Please  let  him  go  on,  I  enjoy  it." 

A  little  look  passed  between  them,  and  they 
came  very  much  nearer  understanding. 

"  Then  what  did  Robbie  do  ?  "  asked  Bax. 

"  Robbie  her  put  on  a  pitty  dress  —  all  white 
—  only  no  shleeves  in  er — guess  Robbie's  night- 
dress—  ayer?  Mommie  lap  and  say  you  no 
in  city  —  take  dat  op."  Bax  stopped  him  finally 
at  this. 

"  I  think  hospitality  need  n't  go  any  further," 
he  said  to  Claude  with  what  Robbie  called  his 
married-man  expression  —  some  humor  and  much 
policy. 

"  I  am  going  to  call  your  mother,"  he  said, 
and  stepped  off,  half  laughing. 

127 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

When  Claude  and  little  Weffbld  were  quite 
alone,  Claude  leaned  over  and  looked  at  the  child 
a  second.  It  was  almost  as  if  he  were  trying  to 
prove  how  far  a  little  child  can  be  trusted.  He 
saw  the  leathern  breeches,  the  soft  silky  curls, 
the  strange  little  tan,  and  through  it,  beautifying 
it  all,  those  eyes,  where  innocence  puts  to  shame 
distrust. 

So  he  said :  "  After  your  mamma  said  that  to 
Robbie,  what  did  Robbie  do,  little  man  ?  " 

"  Her  cryer  —  bery  hard,"  returned  the  child. 

While  they  sat  looking  straight  at  each  other, 
Bax  came  and  said  supper  was  served.  As  they 
entered  the  low  open  room  where  they  took  their 
meals  in  summer,  Claude  saw  the  long  trailing 
vines  which  seemed  to  embower  the  interior,  as 
if  it  were  a  fairy  room.  They  literally  covered 
the  wire. 

Daylight  was  all  but  shut  out.  A  lamp  burned 
on  the  table,  and  he  saw  how  clean  and  tempting 
it  was. 

"  This  is  my  wife,"  said  his  host,  and  a  woman 
took  his  hand  kindly. 

To  him,  she  was  not  a  very  pretty  woman,  nor 
wonderfully  marvellous,  all  told.  But  he  felt  as 
if  in  time  he  would  like  her,  and  he  admired  her 
already,  as  men  who  have  not  been  in  a  wreck 
admire  the  survivors.  This  woman  had  not 

128 


On  JVoman  —  "  In  our  Hours  of  Ease  " 

only  suffered,  he    felt,  but    saved   also.     It  was 
food  in  a  measure  for  his  soul. 

"  I  am  very,  very  happy  to   meet  you,   Mr. 

Garnet,"  she  said.    "  I  bid  you  welcome  amongst 

» 
us. 

After  he  had  mumbled  a  grateful  reply,  she 
said  (much  of  Shorty's  grand  air  in  it) : 

"  My  sister  begs  to  be  excused  this  evening. 
The  sun  must  have  been  too  much  for  her  head, 
Bax." 

Bax  tried  not  to  look  vexed  and  failed.  Re- 
membering Don's  betrayal,  he  felt  impatient  at 
them  all. 

As  Claude  took  hold  of  his  chair,  he  saw  the 
introductions  were  not  over.  A  man  stood  at 
the  head  of  the  table.  He  had  shaggy,  shaded 
eyes,  and  cold  mouth  lines,  not  hid  by  his  long, 
prim  beard.  He  barely  waited  for  Bax  to  finish 
saying : 

"  Major  Weffold  —  Mr.  Garnet."  In  that 
voice  all  sonship  was  out. 

He  did  not  stir  to  extend  his  hand ;  but  below 
the  beard  a  laugh  echoed. 

"  So  you  're  the  biggest  man  New  York  could 
find  for  Garnet  ?  "  he  uttered. 

Then  they  all  sat  down. 


129 


CAMP   AND   A   GIRL 

THE  morning  star,  cold  and  bright  as  a 
diamond,  had  just  appeared  over  that 
big  gray  peak  to  the  south  of  Skeleton 
Canon.  Below  all  this  was  a  waste  of  land  which 
lay  in  immense  gray  silence.  I  spoke  of  the 
Peak.  It  was  the  same  old  one  which  has  looked 
down  on  so  much  of  the  tragic  that  has  made 
Skeleton  Canon  a  haunted  spot  to  the  punchers. 
There  the  last  great  scene  of  the  Apache  drama  took 
place, — Geronimo's  surrender  to  General  Miles, 
in  sight  of  the  grave  of  poor  Jud  White,  who  had 
fallen  the  victim  of  an  Apache  bullet  only  one 
spring  before.  Enough  cannot  be  said  for  the 
dawn  of  peace  in  Arizona.  For  the  Apache  war- 
fare ever  seemed  like  blood,  shed  too  near  the 
feet  of  civilization,  as  if  a  noble  robe  were  being 
too  insolently  spattered. 

Having  prefaced  this  with  poetic  justice,  you  will 
come  with  me  for  this  one  day  on  the  prairies. 
You  will  see  poor  Bax's  morning  star  appear  and 
fade  out,  and  over  the  long,  silent  ranges  day  will 
roll  like  a  team  with  a  fearless  driver,  and  Ari- 
zona will  awaken  again.  Great  herds  will  be 

130 


Camp  and  a  Girl 

mixed  up  with  the  vision ;  strange,  stalwart  men 
move  on  untamed  mustangs ;  words  fit  only  for 
silence,  and  only  for  churches,  will  blend  pro- 
fanely on  your  ear.  There  will  be  great  meals 
and  hearty  eaters. 

Suddenly  as  a  curtain  goes  down  in  a  theatre  a 
moment  before  you  are  quite  ready,  the  work  will 
be  ended,  and  the  devil's  play-house  still. 

A  son  of  the  sand  hills  says  just  this  is  to  live. 
He  was  raised  on  the  milk  of  the  cows  of  the 
desert,  so  let  us  not  blame  him,  and  here  goes : 
Old  Billy  the  cook  is  already  astir.  His  fire  is 
blazing  high ;  the  big  coffee-pot  boiling.  Noth- 
ing so  merry  as  a  coffee-pot  on  a  boil  in  a 
frontier  country,  unless  it  be  the  natives  corre- 
spondingly active.  A  savory  odor  of  fried  beef- 
steaks and  sour  dough  biscuits  comes  from  the 
Dutch  ovens  old  Billy  guards.  He  sniffs  now 
and  again  himself,  as  if  well  pleased  with  it. 

He  is  a  weather-beaten  old  fellow,  with  a  twist 
to  his  face  that  may  come  from  a  squint  in  his 
sight.  It  is  the  way  people  know  him  ;  but  I  do 
not  remember  exactly  now.  He  would  look  very 
rough  for  a  city  butler,  but  he  looks  very,  very 
mighty  out  here,  where  men  get  very  hungry  and 
women  are  scarce.  It  is  rumored  (I  cannot 
swear  to  this,  though)  that  twenty  men  may  slap 
his  back  of  a  morning,  but  at  the  twenty-first 
rousing  blow  of  good-fellowship,  lo !  there  is 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

a  snarl.     That  is   not  so  bad  for  Arizona  —  to 
have  one's  temper  twenty  deep. 

This  shambling  old  Billy  prides  himself  very 
justly  on  his  sour  dough  biscuit.  It  is  his  master-- 
piece. He  is  famous  for  it,  as  men  have  been 
famous  for  great  achievements  since  time  began. 
It  is  the  only  bread  the  genus  cow-boy  will  eat, 
and  it  must  be  red-hot.  We  groan,  we  city  dys- 
peptics, at  that.  The  sour  dough  biscuit  would 
be  a  poisonous  thought  to  our  knowledge  before 
the  barbaric  morsel  ever  crossed  our  lips.  And 
man  generally  gets  the  evil  thing  which  he 
yearns  for. 

Old  Billy  putters  around  awhile  by  himself. 
He  chews  toothlessly  on  his  wad  of  tobacco.  He 
seems  as  if  listening. 

Suddenly  a  distant  but  rollicking  whistle  floats 
rippling  in,  and  Billy  knows  that  the  horse-herder 
is  nearing  camp  with  the  herd.  Some  little  note 
in  that  whistle  tells  how  good  he  feels  that  the 
long  night's  vigil  is  ended. 

The  old  cook  moves  mechanically.  He  is  a 
sort  of  philosopher,  I  guess.  He  never  seems 
very  glad  or  sorry,  except  when  the  biscuits 
burn  several  mornings,  or  he  is  slapped 
twenty-one  times  on  the  back. 

Between  his  conscientious  work  on  the  tobacco, 
he  cries,  "  Chuck  away  !  "  It  was  a  mysterious 
vocal  symbol.  At  it  all  those  heaps  that  before 

132 


Camp  and  a  Girl 

seemed  but  a  part  of  the  yellow  prairie  became 
animated  one  by  one. 

We  are  not  swell  dandies  dressing  under  the 
morning  star.  The  act  of  pulling  on  boots  and 
spurs  all  at  one  big  tug  constitutes  the  wardrobe 
and  ready-for-breakfast  feat  of  these  sons  of  the 
desert,  —  the  cow-punchers,  the  devil-may-care 
sons  of  nature,  whose  home  is  on  the  saddle,  and 
whose  roof  is  where  night  overtakes  them. 

Breakfast  is  a  play  of  strength,  not  grace. 
Each  one  grabs  a  tin  plate,  a  knife,  a  fork  (often 
an  unnecessary  luxury,  but  then  we  '11  grow  up  to 
that),  a  tin  cup.  There  is  n't  much  Chesterfield- 
ism  in  it  —  more  a  certain  sturdy  motion,  as  if 
each  one's  very  life  depended  on  quick  despatch 
of  hot  bread,  black  coffee,  and  great  chunks  of 
beef. 

Soon  the  cry  of  horses  is  heard,  and  a  great 
clatter  of  hoofs,  as  the  horse-herd  approaches.  It 
is  a  magic  sound  again.  Plates,  cups, —  all  are 
dropped  as  quickly  as  the  cry  of  fire  would  start 
a  city  boarder  ;  for  the  cow-puncher  takes  life 
seriously.  He  does  not  dally  with  time  or  duty. 
Yet  you  never  thought  it  before,  I  bet  ?  We 
must  use  The  Language,  we  are  in  boots  and 
spurs  ourselves  for  to-day. 

The  cow-puncher  must  catch  his  day's  mount. 
No  one  will  do  it  for  him,  and  the  cow-boy  who 
cannot  rope  the  wildest  mustang  in  that  bunch  and 

133 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

ride  him  to  a  finish  would  be  the  laughing-stock 
of  the  round-up.  "  Onery  "  they  'd  call  him 
down  here. 

But  the  sun  will  soon  be  coming  over  Skeleton 
Mountain,  following  in  the  wake  of  the  morning 
star,  and  we  must  be  off! 

They  go  in  bunches  of  five  or  six ;  some  to  the 
south,  down  in  the  big  hollow  country,  some  off 
west  toward  Indian  Creek,  some  to  the  north 
of  Squaw  Mountain,  and  some  over  to  the  mouth 
of  Skeleton  Canon,  —  and  all  of  them  a-riding 
like  mad. 

Hurrah  for  the  good  blood  in  us ! 

And  Billy  the  cook  is  alone  (save  once  when  a 
girl  was  with  him  one  day,  may  be  not  this  one, 
but  that  is  another  story  —  rather  a  later  story, 
as  Mr.  Kipling  says). 

Old  Billy  the  cook  is  alone,  a  vast  pile  of 
unwashed  tin  plates  and  cups  before  him  and  the 
noon-day  dinner  for  forty  hungry  men.  But  he 
is  no  tenderfoot,  this  one.  He  quietly  eats  his 
own  breakfast,  then  fills  his  pipe,  and,  sitting  com- 
fortably amid  the  wreck  of  pots  and  pans,  he 
evolves  from  his  experienced  brain  the  bill  of 
fare  for  the  dinner  hour  —  ho!  but  one  can  get 
hungry  thinking  —  and  slowly  but  easily  brings 
order  out  of  chaos. 

All  is  quiet  about  camp.     Even  the  rhythmic 


Camp  and  a  Girl 

snore  of  the  night-herder  peacefully  buried  in  his 
blankets  makes  the  silence  more  marked.  Nine 
o'clock — ten  —  goes  by,  and  yet  all  is  an  Arizona 
stillness  —  a  stillness  almost  of  death. 

But  now  a  faint  dust  is  seen  way  south,  and 
soon  from  all  directions  comes  a  low  murmuring, 
followed  by  an  occasional  pistol  shot.  The  old 
cook  hears  it  all.  He  listens  —  munches  a  bit. 
Standing  so,  grotesque  and  awkward,  it  is  easy  to 
say  his  thought  to  himself: 

"  The  boys  are  getting  hungry,  and  are  shoot- 
ing them  up  a  bit." 

Soon  the  air  is  rilled  with  a  bellowing  of  cows 
and  calves,  and  on  all  sides  they  come.  It  looks 
as  though  one  vast  wave  of  cattle  were  rolling  in 
toward  a  tiny  beach,  where  one  stands.  It 
threatens  to  well  engulf  both  old  Billy  and  the 
"  chuck  wagon." 

But  Billy  is  not  alarmed.  The  old  cows  know 
what  it  all  means,  and  when  the  round-up  ground 
is  reached,  they  stop ;  and  though  many  of  the 
noisy  youngsters  rush  on  pell-mell,  they  are  soon 
chased  back  by  the  swift  cow  ponies. 

And  this  vast  concourse  of  almost  every  con- 
ceivable color  is  the  round-up.  Old  Billy  views 
the  group ;  he  guesses  there  are  four  thousand  head, 
which  means  a  hard  day's  work  for  the  boys. 

Soon  the  noise  of  bellowing  almost  ceases.  The 
cows  and  calves,  the  bulls,  the  steers,  —  all  stand 


huddled  together,  wondering  probably  what  next 
will  happen.  There  is  a  foreman  around  some- 
where. There  are  always  foremen.  That  officer 
will  be  an  indispensable  enemy  until  the  millennium. 
That  gentleman  of  the  outfit  details  a  half-dozen 
of  his  men  to  watch  the  herd,  and  with  a  call, 
"  Come  on,  boys,"  puts  spurs  to  his  horse,  and 
with  wild  yells  and  whipping  and  spurring, 
there  is  a  race  of  cow-boys  for  the  "  chuck 
wagon."  But  Billy  is  ready  and  waiting.  He 
looks  serene,  fortified,  as  he  is  with  a  great  pot 
of  beans,  another  of  beef,  another  of  "  spuds," 
and  a  pot  of  coffee  which  would  supply  an  army. 

Dinner  is  soon  over ;  and  the  horse-herder 
stands  ready  with  his  two  hundred  head  and 
more  of  wiry  cow  ponies,  and  soon  the  boys  have 
fresh  mounts,  and  are  off  to  the  herd. 

The  little  play  has  no  intermission  between 
acts.  Now  the  foreman  details  his  picked  men 
to  ride  in  and  cut  out  the  cows  with  their  respec- 
tive calves.  Many  an  unruly  beast  tries  vainly 
to  dash  back,  but  the  wiry,  watchful  pony  with 
his  rider  checkmates  every  move.  Very  soon 
the  cows  with  unbranded  calves  are  grouped  at 
some  distance  from  the  round-up,  and  then  all 
the  stray  brands  of  cattle  are  put  in  another 
herd.  The  tired  punchers  drive  the  two  herds 
to  the  big  corrals,  and  when  the  bars  are  up, 
the  day's  work  is  done.  "  The  round-up  "  is 

'36 


Camp  and  a  Girl 

turned  loose,  and  the  tired  cattle,  who  have  so 
patiently  stood  all  day,  wander  wearily  back  to 
their  ranges.  The  cow-boy  pulls  his  saddle  off 
his  faithful  pony,  which  is  now  free  to  rustle  a  few 
mouthfuls  of  that  yellow  dry  grass  which  is  his 
only  fare. 

Supper  then,  and  immediately  to  bed,  for  to- 
morrow there  are  five  hundred  calves  in  that  big 
corral  to  brand,  and  that  means  hard  work, — 
harder  work  than  the  miner  does  whose  muscles 
are  of  steel. 

What  I  have  to  tell  you  after  all  this  is  a  story 
still  told  on  those  stretching  ranges,  —  a  cow-boy 
story  on  a  city  girl.  So  if  you  have  read  through 
my  sketch,  you  can  put  in  the  girl  as  an  illustra- 
tion in  those  places  where  she  belongs. 

Now  riding  like  mad  (in  the  form  of  a  fascinat- 
ing maiden)  into  the  camp  at  daybreak,  or,  to  be 
more  poetic,  just  as  dawn  was  forcing  the  flight 
of  night;  one  of  the  love-sick  fellows  said  that 
(whom  she  left,  yearning  and  wonder-struck  at 
night).  She  impersonated  Dawn,  we  suppose. 
Now  peeping  into  a  pot  of  spuds  beside  the  de- 
lighted Billy,  or  learning  how  to  throw  a  lass', 
which  her  gallant  instructor  would  have  nearly 
given  his  good  right  hand  to  have  seen  fall  on  a 
harmless  calf  to  please  her. 

But  it  did  n't. 

'37 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Now  riding  off  at  night  toward  sunset,  waving 
at  them  as  she  faded  away.  And  they  watched, 
nearly  every  mother's  son  of  them,  until  the  wave 
grew  so  faint  in  the  distance,  that  even  as  they 
still  waited  it  was  no  more. 

Old  Billy  had  been  stirring  his  coffee  when  she 
came.  So  the  cow-punchers  tell  it  this  way. 
How  as  the  old  cook  was  getting  the  breakfast 
for  them,  a  lone  figure  came  from  the  West.  It 
was  not  the  herder.  It  came  nearer.  It  had  on 
skirts.  It  wore  a  light  waist  with  a  great  tie, 
knotted  man  fashion,  which  swept  out  in  the  wind. 
A  man's  hat  topped  this  gallant  sight.  A  man's 
hat  is  as  fair  a  sight  as  you  'd  wish  to  clap  eyes 
on  at  a  round-up,  if  it  has  a  girl's  face  underneath. 

Do  not  laugh  you  men  who  live  in  great 
crowded  cities,  and  are  surfeited  of  the  sweets  of 
life.  It  is  told  a  man  was  there  that  day  at  the 
round-up,  who  had  ridden  over  from  his  own  great 
range  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  a  mass  of  cattle. 
In  rough  language,  he  was  often  called  the  whitest 
man  in  Arizona.  His  name  was  Bax  Weffold. 

This  girl  who  rode  up  was  his  sister-in-law. 
She  was  a  tenderfoot  —  good  'cess  to  the  fact. 
She  wanted  to  learn  every  fool  thing  going,  look- 
ing full  into  your  eyes  as  she  learned.  The  men 
who  taught  her  were  apt  to  think  afterwards,  she 
was  the  most  beautiful  creature  God  ever  made, 
but  probably  they  were  mistaken,  for  very  much 

'38 


Camp  and  a  Girl 

? 

of  the  judgment  lay  in  this  simple  statement: 
there  were  no  other  women  near.  And  the 
ridiculous  things  which  she  said  that  day !  Even 
Bax  himself  was  quite  surprised  by  them,  and  one 
moment,  when  he  got  her  alone,  said,  with  his 
steady  stare,  only  this  time  with  a  twinkle  back 
of  it: 

"  You  'd  make  a  capital  soubrette,  Rob.  I  '11 
sell  every  steer  on  the  place  before  such  talent 
goes  begging;  "  having  in  mind  her  hoodwinking 
of  Sandy  Joe  on  the  analysis  of  Dogies  (which  are 
motherless  calves  open  to  impromptu  adoption 
by  any  lucky  brander),  when  (Bax  smiled  as  he 
thought  of  it)  he  had  spent  several  hours  on  the 
same  exhaustive  topic  only  the  evening  before. 

Robbie  had  flushed  first  and  looked  a  little 
nasty,  then  she  had  said  in  a  very  simple  and 
sisterly  fashion : 

Just  "  Hush  up,"  and  smiled  defiantly  there- 
after at  him  during  her  naive  little  deceptions  on 
these  simple  folk. 

And  there  was  nothing  stuck  up  in  the  girl, 
white  as  were  her  hands,  and  heaven-tilted  as  was 
her  chin.  Why,  she  treated  old  Billy  and  the 
rough  young  bronco  busters  on  a  par  and  with  far 
greater  warmth  of  manner  than  that  young  strip 
from  New  York  in  the  "  make-believe  rig,"  as 
one  puncher  expressed  it,  who  owned  half  the 
Garnet  mine. 

'39 


ON   A   CALENDAR    (SECONDARILY) 

ACROSS  a  wide  endless-seeming  plain  two 
young  riders  were  tearing.  In  this  latter 
day  muddle  and  warp  of  sex,  it  may  not 
be  unseemly  to  mention  that  one  of  these  horse- 
men was  a  girl.  See!  with  the  un-Arizonian  com- 
plexion, and  the  suspicion  of  gold  dust  in  her 
hair.  The  sun  had  left  such  a  trail  in  the  sky, 
it  is  impossible  to  try  and  describe  it.  It  would 
be  better  to  go  to  Arizona  at  once,  and  learn  that 
there  can  be  no  exaggeration.  As  if  angels  had 
walked  through  the  West  with  trumpets,  and 
suddenly,  it  was  so  triumphant,  there  had  been 
a  metamorphosis  to  color  of  sound.  Oh  !  it  was 
red  and  golden,  marvellous  and  very  blue. 

The  earth  was  but  stubble  and  cow  trails, 
silence,  this  man,  and  a  girl.  When  they  had 
ridden  well  from  under  the  hills  and  faced  the 
solitude  before  them,  her  voice  broke  the  stillness. 
It  was  like  a  pretty  whip  with  smarting  lashes. 

"  Are  n't  you  afraid  to  be  on  the  desert  alone 
with  a  woman  ?  " 

He  set  his  chin  firmly.  He  had  much  to  forgive 
her.  At  dinner  when  Bax  had  said  :  "  Robbie, 

140 


On  a  Calendar  (Secondarily] 

I  am  going  to  stay  an  hour  or  so  longer,  but 
you  must  go  back  to  Rcl  by  dusk.  Mr.  Garnet 
has  offered  to  see  you  home,"  —  she  'd  asked 
very  coolly,  with  a  fetching  simplicity  to  the 
dishonest  little  question,  "  which  Mr.  Garnet 
was  ? " 

Bax  knew  it  was  false,  but  he  rather  liked  it. 
He  could  not  look,  as  Claude  did,  at  it ;  he  was 
married.  To  him,  in  this  experience,  a  woman's 
humors  did  not  spoil,  even  affect,  her  soul. 

He  only  laughed  inwardly,  tolerantly ;  and 
when  he,  too,  rode  home  that  evening  alone  on 
the  lonely  plain,  another  fuller  laugh  broke  from 
him.  It  had  been  steeped  in  happy  memories, 
and  came  out  quizzically,  as  he  touched  uncon- 
scious spurs  to  his  pony. 

"  She  is  a  great  girl,"  he  said  aloud,  still  smil- 
ing. The  pony  carried  him  joyously.  They 
were  of  one  mind,  brute  and  man.  Two  free 
things  of  nature  with  but  one  tame  instinct,  —  that 
of  home.  Stirring  whimsical  memories  came  to 
him  as  he  rode  on.  He  said  yet  again,  "  There 
is  but  one  greater." 

His  friendly  plains  felt  the  joy  of  his  mirth. 
They  seemed  to  roll,  to  grow  into  echo,  and  come 
back  to  him  from  the  surrounding  hills.  The 
stars  crept  out  and  seemed  to  smile.  He  tried  to 
think,  and  became  mixed  thinking.  It  seemed 
Stevenson  who  had  once  said  for  him,  "  This 

141 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

feeling  for  parts  of  nature  was  much  one  felt  for 
one's  wife."      Much,  not  quite  it. 

All  Claude  could  say  to  the  girl's  mocking 
taunt,  was  "  No,"  after  all. 

He  had  meant  to  answer  it  sharply,  far  differ- 
ently. He  had  said  to  himself  that  he  did  not 
understand  her.  She  was  shallow,  unmannerly, 
purposeless.  He  wanted  to  tell  her  how  shocked 
he  was  ;  how  he  had  come  planning  to  find  the 
native  woman  symbolic  of  all  her  Western  reputa- 
tion ;  how  he  had  found  her  really  very  nice, 
very  sweet,  and  rather  too  backward ;  how  he 
had  found  strange  qualities  in  this  little  stranger 
that  he  had  never  found  in  the  East,  where  she 
had  come  from.  Perhaps  he  had  even  planned 
a  masterly  dissertation  on  the  anomalism,  but  he 
could  not  frame  all  this  when  the  time  came. 

"  If  I  had  been  afraid,"  he  continued,  feeling 
his  dignity  demanded  this,  "  I  should  not  have 
come  with  you."  Suddenly  he  made  a  flank 
movement,  attacking  her  vitally.  His  success 
ever  lay  in  his  simplicity  and  directness.  It  was 
the  sympathetic  medium  of  his  life,  and  com- 
manded vaguely,  courteously,  but  imperiously. 
He  adopted  this  route  gently  almost  before  the 
full  hauteur  of  his  former  tone  was  accomplished. 

"  I  think  we  might  be  helpful   to  each  other. 
Will  you  try  to  be  friends  ? " 

142 


On  a  Calendar  (Secondarily] 

"Do  you  like  our  sunsets?"  she  said,  almost 
simultaneously  to  his  desire,  that  she  answer  him 
in  cold  unmistakable  words. 

She  was  riding  straighter.  She  was  true,  too, 
only  he  did  not  know  it.  In  Chicago  truth  was 
not  fashionable  in  their  set.  Responsive  to 
Claude's  appeal  was  nothing  defined  or  satis- 
factory. She  would  not  answer  him  until  she 
knew.  It  was  a  certain  promise  of  better  things, 
poor  child ! 

"  Our  sunsets  ? "  repeated  Claude.  It  was  a 
commonplace  subject  with  delicious  undertones. 

"  May  n't  I  enjoy  the  pronoun  also  ?  Which 
of  us  stepped  off  the  train  first  ? " 

She  cast  him  a  fleeting  glance  with  a  repressed 
inclination  to  it. 

"  I  never  noticed  sunsets  before,"  she  said 
rather  impetuously.  "  They  seemed  only  a  part 
of  the  shops  and  lamps  in  the  city.  Perhaps 
houses  hid  them." 

"  Or  hills,"  said  Claude. 

They  were  so  intense  just  then,  it  took  them 
full  a  moment  or  so  to  know  he  had  been  guilt- 
less of  some  great  effect  in  that  very  mediocre 
little  addition.  She  was  upset  by  it.  Then  she 
started  in  recklessly  again. 

"  A  man  drew  a  calendar,"  she  said.  "  He 
was  a  friend  of  my  sister.  His  name  was  Sidney. 
Do  you  know  him  ?  " 

M3 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  No,"  answered  Claude,  hardly  knowing  where 
she  was  leading. 

"  He  made  scenes  on  it  of  Arizona  life.  We 
thought  it  immense  —  very  funny.  I  think  he 
is  a  great  artist  already.  Even  Bax  laughed. 
Bax,  you  know,  is  opposed  to  liquor.  It  was  of 
a  sunset,  the  kind  we  see  most  of  down  here, 
done  in  flaming  red,  and  a  puncher  in  front  of  a 
swing  bar  door.  He  was  fast  asleep,  and  the 
flask  emptying  by  his  side.  It  was  immense." 

"  Things  like  that  —  "  said  Claude. 

"  Like  what  ?  "  she  echoed. 

"  Are  they  for  women  to  see  ?  " 

She  gave  a  laugh  like  her  cool  little  voice, 
only  far  more  reckless  ;  then  went  on  talking. 
It  was  barely  a  pause. 

"  Another  picture  was  of  a  man.  He  was  being 
chased  by  a  woman,  who  brandished  a  poker.  It 
is  our  ideal  of  connubial  bliss  here.  It  was  a 
round-up.  You  're  not  much  for  art,  perhaps  ?  " 

He  began  to  understand  her  better,  a  for- 
giveness for  their  differences  of  temperament 
being  uppermost.  They  were  not  like  each 
other.  It  was  wonderful  being  different.  These 
were  progressive  stages.  He  was  earnest — ap- 
pallingly so,  too  manner-moral,  as  it  were.  She 
was  not  earnest.  It  was  like  a  fan,  and  she  was 
coquetting  with  him.  He  was  growing  clever 
quickly  —  this  solemn  household  fellow,  Claude. 

144 


On  a  Calendar  (Secondarily) 

He  thought  her  very  fascinating.  His  mind 
provided  a  thousand  things  in  answer  —  all  of 
some  sombre  color,  which  it  seemed  her  vivid, 
unquenchable  fancy  must  despise.  So  after  quite 
a  time,  he  said  : 

"  It  is  not  art  so  much  as  the  subject." 

He  could  not  shake  his  old  self,  you  see. 

"  What  subject  ?  "  Robbie  asked. 

"  The  relations  between  man  and  woman." 

She  looked  interrogative. 

"  I  hold  old-fashioned  opinions,"  Claude  an- 
nounced (quite  a  haughtiness  in  his  manner,  to 
be  exact). 

"  That  the  man  should  be  brandishing  the 
poker  ?  It  is  not  original,"  Robbie  returned. 

He  stared  at  her.  He  did  not  know  what  to 
say  ;  as  they  rode  farther,  he  did  not  mind  not 
being  able  to  speak.  She  was  riding  along  beside 
him,  breast  to  breast,  and  he  could  see  how,  if 
they  kept  on  riding,  the  gloom  would  envelop 
them  both  as  one,  and  it  was  sweet  to  him. 
Then  their  horses  started  on  much  faster.  It 
stimulated  him  to  speak. 

"  I  don't  think  you  want  to  be  friends."  This 
time  when  he  got  to  the  think,  her  tie  blew  out 
and  flapped  into  his  face  and  stayed  there,  and 
did  not  seem  to  want  to  blow  away. 

She  tossed  her  head  and  replied  (there  seemed 
something  like  surrender  in  it) : 

10  I45 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  You  have  no  sense  of  humor.  People  bore 
me  —  unless  —  after  awhile —  yet  I  should  like 
to  be  friends  with  you." 

She  pursed  her  lips,  as  if  waiting  for  him  to 
answer.  Then  she  would  decide. 

"  I  only  had  a  conscious  sense  of  humor  once 
in  my  life,"  Claude  answered ;  "  may  be  that  will 
do  ?  It  was  when  you  said  to  me,  c  Who  are 
you  ? '  at  Short's.  I  wondered  why  unkind  fate 
had  left  you  without  a  lorgnette  !  " 

"  That  is  not  a  sense  of  humor,  that  is  mean," 
answered  the  girl,  blushing.  Yet  she  did  not 
look  really  vexed,  and,  as  if  glad  of  the  opportu- 
nity offered,  said  very  simply  : 

"  I  did  not  know  who  you  were  that  day.  I 
am  afraid  we  were  both  taken  at  a  disadvantage. 
I  want  you  to  forgive  anything  personal  I  said 
about  your  family." 

"  I  think  I  enjoyed  it,"  Claude  answered,  "  es- 
pecially what  the  seminary  girls  said  of  me." 

"  Oh  !  don't  —  that  is  terrible,"  she  cried,  get- 
ting crimson.  "  They  did  not  mean  a  word  of 
it." 

"  No,  I  presume  not,"  he  returned,  quite 
gravely. 

Then  unable  to  carry  it  on  any  longer,  they 
laughed. 

"  We  are  making  wonderful  strides,"  he  said, 
after  this  outburst.  "  I  think  you  must  not  give 

146 


On  a  Calendar  (Secondarily) 

me  up  too  soon.     A  little  completer  association 
and  I  '11  know  when  to  laugh  after  all." 

She  said  "  All  right,"  quite  demurely.  Then 
this  came  up  impulsively  : 

"You  have  changed.  You  do  not  seem  the 
same  to  me." 

"You  have  not  changed,"  Claude  answered. 
"At  least  you  are  always  changing.  You  are 
not  one  person,  but  ten.  How  can  I  express  it? 
May  be  you  can  help  me  out." 

"  No,  I  am  tired  of  myself,"  she  returned.  "  I 
do  not  want  to  ! "  She  brought  the  whole  tide 
of  her  convictions  back  to  him  again. 

"  It  is  you  I  do  not  know  what  to  make  of. 
You  are  greatly  changed." 

"  If  you  find  this  humor  more  simple,  why 
should  you  care  ? "  asked  Claude,  rather  too 
intense. 

"  I  do  not  like  this  humor  better,"  returned 
the  girl. 

He  gave  it  up  hopelessly. 

"  How  have  I  changed  ?     Tell  me." 

"  The  other  day  when  we  drove  into  Weffold's 
—  on  the  stage  —  had  you  known  I  was  I,  it 
would  have  seemed  hypocritical." 

"  Oh,  no,"  emphatically. 

"  Oh,  -yes,"  she  argued. 

He  drew  the  reins  in  vexedly.  He  could  not 
contradict  it.  He  was  woefully  true,  Claude ! 

147 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"  Nothing,"  breathed  his  companion,  "  only 
there  is  a  difference  !  " 

She  scrambled  out  of  the  subsequent  silence 
far  more  readily  than  he.  She  was  uninten- 
tionally coquettish  this  time. 

"  To-day,  when  I  clinked  cups  with  that  man 
at  the  table,  it  was  not  the  action  you  disapproved 
of,  but  —  but  —  " 

" The  man"  Claude  ended  for  her  —  decided 
enough  this  time. 

Her  heart  beat  wild,  as  they  flew  over  the 
stubble.  It  was  quite  convincing.  In  Chicago 
there  is  a  supposition  that  the  heart  theory  is  a 
myth. 

Once  he  leaned  over  and  touched  her  bridle 
in  a  queer,  protective,  controlling  fashion. 

"  There  is  a  question  I  want  to  ask  you,"  he  said. 

"  On  what?  "  she  asked. 

"  On  my  having  changed,"  Claude  replied. 
"  Which  way  do  you  like  better  ? " 

"I  will  run  you  a  race,"  she  gasped,  against 
the  wind,  her  voice  half  gone,  but  her  cheeks 
all  aglow,  and  her  eyes  shining. 

They  were  nearing  home  —  Weffold's  then,  — 
the  soul  of  old  Carl's  vast  estate.  They  both 
looked  young  and  very  radiant  —  these  two. 

"If  you  catch  me  before  I  reach  the  house, 
you  can  —  learn  —  " 

148 


On  a  Calendar  (Secondarily) 

"  Surely,"  called  Claude,  as  if  threatening. 

She  went  off  without  answering,  like  the  wind. 
Her  little  horse  tore  the  ground,  riding  long 
and  low.  A  shout  went  up  from  some  hand  in 
the  field  at  the  sight.  It  was  involuntary. 

Then  Claude  put  spurs  to  his  little  mustang 
deliberately. 


149 


THE  DEED  OF  A  FADED  DAGUER- 
REOTYPE 

BAX  WEFFOLD  was  used  to  his  married 
life  by  this  time.  It  had  been  a  change 
at  first.  A  woman's  eyes  see  the  world 
on  such  a  different  side  from  men's.  He  had 
not  known  how  to  look  at  things  before,  she 
said.  But  he  asserted  that  all  men  enjoyed  the 
same  ignorance  until  they  were  married,  which 
pleased  her  very  much,  as  it  sounded  compli- 
mentary to  the  entire  sex,  and  no  doubt  would 
have  caused  her  to  patronize  him  if  he  had  not 
been  Bax  Weffbld,  instead  of  an  ordinary  man,  — 
a  Bax  whose  life  had  been  colorless  as  a  sunless 
day  until  his  love  and  marriage.  It  is  a  theory 
with  most  women  that  if  men  do  great  good  it 
is  because  of  a  romance  of  some  kind,  however 
remote.  But  Bax  had  been  a  rude,  native  pillar 
long  before  he  met  her,  save  in  the  Ideal  (she 
always  concluded,  bound  to  have  some  place  in 
his  good). 

He  used  to  say  "  yes,  he  knew  her  at  once 
when  they  met  that  evening,"  which  may  sound 
very  tame  to  us  old  fogies  long  past  such  non- 


The  Deed  of  a  Faded  Daguerreotype 

sense ;  but  it  was  the  bread  of  his  life  to  Bax. 
They  never  coquetted  with  each  other,  as  even 
married  people  will ;  but  were  very  direct  and 
simple.  May  be  a  certain  amount  of  shadow,  not 
gloomy,  but  merely  gentle  shadow,  had  much  to 
do  with  this. 

He  loved  her  so  very  entirely,  yet  so  very 
tenderly. 

"  Oh,"  she  said  once  to  him,  after  she  had 
heard  some  noble  little  story  about  him,  "  how 
could  you  have  cared  to  serve  and  help  the  world 
so,  Bax,  before  you  met  me  !  " 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  there  was  my  mother." 

For  a  long,  long  time  she  had  not  answered; 
then,  when  a  day  or  so  was  passed,  she  came  help- 
lessly to  him. 

"  Bax,"  she  said,  "  there  is  something  I  want 
you  to  teach  me,  which  I  can't  learn  by  myself. 
I  struggle,  and  struggle,  and  it  won't  come  to  me. 
Why,  I  should  not  be  jealous  of  your  mother, 
dear!" 

In  the  days  after  Robbie's  ride  and  that  mo- 
mentous round-up,  there  were  a  thousand  calls  on 
his  moods  and  advices.  He  responded  to  these 
light-heartedly.  Sometimes  off  to  himself,  he 
pulled  a  long  face,  perhaps,  and  indulged  in  as 
sober  and  solitary  reflection  as  any  unmarried 
man;  but,  when  there  were  pressing  questions 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

like  this  to  answer,  we  are  all  more  or  less  wont 
to  put  more  vital  ones  from  us. 

What  did  he  suppose  Claude  could  have  said 
to  Robbie,  if  Don  had  heard  Robbie  say  to 
Claude,  — 

"  You  have,  but  I  like  you  either  way  "  ? 

He  did  not  know.  If  she  had  not  known 
what  Robbie  had  said  to  Claude,  she  would  not 
have  been  so  curious  to  know  what  Claude  had 
said  to  Robbie,  would  she  ?  She  merely  sniffed 
at  this,  until  she  saw  Don  was  involved  in  it,  then 
she  said : 

"They  rode  up  just  at  twilight.  In  fact,  it 
was  not  too  dark  to  see  that  Robbie  seemed  to  be 
running  a  race,  and  I  am  my  sister's  guardian." 
(Bax  smiled  at  little  stops  like  this.)  "  Her  tie 
was  untied  and  was  flying,  imagine  Robbie !  and 
her  hat  was  not  on  her  head  at  all."  (Now  it  was 
— just  imagine!)  "  I  think  when  it  gets  that  far, 
Bax,  I  had  a  right  to  listen ;  for  just  as  they 
reached  the  gate,  he  reached  over  and  caught  her 
bridle.  She  was  laughing,  but  he  looked  dread- 
fully in  earnest." 

"  I  think  he  is  rather  earnest,"  Bax  inter- 
rupted. 

"But,"  she  persisted,  "that  certain  expression! " 

"  Oh !  don't,"  said  Bax,  "  this  is  n't  honorable." 
She  simply  swept  him  from  head  to  foot  with  a 
look. 

152 


The  Deed  of  a  Faded  Daguerreotype 

"  Honorable !  you  ought  to  know  other 
women." 

"  Oh  !  I  'm  glad  I  don't,"  returned  Bax. 

"  You  know,"  he  continued,  "  you  are  match- 
making, and  I  won't  abet  you  in  it." 

"  Marriages  are  made  in  Heaven,"  she  brought 
to  bear,  indignantly. 

"  Well,  then,  I  won't  abet  Heaven,"  he  cried. 
"  I  'm  not  influential  enough  to  try.  Rel,  Rel, 
can't  you  see  we  'd  better  leave  well-enough  alone? 
My  father  has  seemed  bitterer  than  ever  against 
the  Garnets  since  Claude  came." 

"  You  know,"  she  said,  a  perfect  woman,  "since 
he  signed  our  agreement,  it  is  all  I  can  do  not  to 
snap  my  ringers  in  his  face." 

Bax  did  not  smile.  He  loved  her  faults  best 
of  all,  but  the  depths  of  his  heart  were  unfathom- 
able just  then.  There  was  an  impending  quality 
of  desolation  to  the  weight.  He  had  half  a  mind 
to  talk  it  out  with  her,  but  when  she  came  back 
even  later,  he  could  not  bring  that  old  woeful  ex- 
pression to  the  superficial  happiness  in  her  face. 

She  had  just  found  out  about  Robbie's  and 
Claude's  first  meeting  on  the  stage.  She  hated 
Robbie's  not  having  told  her.  It  seemed  deceit- 
ful. Did  he  think  Robbie  hypocritical  ? 

He  could  not  say  for  certain.  Once  he  might 
have  thought  so ;  but,  from  his  latter  experience 
with  women,  he  thought  not. 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"Why?" 

"  Once  he  had  been  engaged  to  a  woman,  and 
in  the  over-gush  of  first  betrothal,  she  had  given 
him  her  diary  to  read,  and  since  then  he  had  never 
tried  to  understand  women.  In  fact,  after  a  man 
reads  an  article  like  this  :  '  First  meeting  :  I  talked 
all  evening  to  Lieutenant  Carsdell,  so  Mr.  Wef- 
fold  would  n't  know  how  simply  magnificent  I 
think  him,'  —  a  fellow  is  only  grateful  for  getting 
a  wife  at  all ;  especially  when  he  remembers  how 
he  was  feeling  that  very  night." 

Mrs.  Bax  was  very  red. 

"  Another  place  she  was  so  very  miserable  over 
having  flirted  deliberately  with  this  same  Lieu- 
tenant that  she  would  have  taken  carbolic  acid  if 
it  had  not  burnt  so  much."  He  looked  steadily 
before  him.  "  I  remember  the  other  fellow  felt 
pretty  much  that  way  himself  that  night." 

She  put  her  hands  to  her  face. 

"  Oh  !  stop.  Did  you  have  a  worse  opinion  of 
her  after  ? " 

"  No,  only  of  myself,"  Bax  answered,  quizzi- 
cally a  bit,  at  which  she  dropped  on  her  knees 
beside  him,  and  put  both  arms  around  his 
neck. 

"  I  should  have  taken  carbolic  acid  if  you 
had  n't  married  me,  Bax,  I  know  it." 

He  tried  to  say  the  word  "  Coward,"  but  she 
put  her  hand  across  his  lips. 


The  Deed  of  a  Faded  Daguerreotype 

Between  these  times,  Bax  remembered  how 
thin  the  cows  had  shown  at  the  recent  round-up. 
It  was  a  simple  fact  with  immense  issues. 

He  never  seemed  entirely  blameless  of  the 
great  droughts  of  his  own  lifetime.  The  suffer- 
ing entangled  him  pitiably.  As  of  old,  he  sought 
to  face  and  unravel  the  problem.  For  years  and 
years,  his  father  had  been  a  sort  of  water  king 
in  this  frontiersland.  He  remembered  in  his 
mother's  lifetime  having  found  this  out. 

He  had  been  very  little,  and  the  country  a 
mere  handful  to  what  it  was  now.  She  had  been 
a  city  woman,  ignorant  of  the  State  or  its  resources 
then,  and  Carl  WefFold  had  not  striven  to  dis- 
illusion or  enlighten  her.  She  believed  him  to  be 
powerful,  but  powerless  in  these  crises  of  abject 
famine,  until  one  morning  at  breakfast,  she  had 
leant  over  and  laid  something  before  him.  It  was 
an  editorial  from  a  town  paper  near  them  on  him- 
self. It  commenced  trenchantly,  humorously,  on 
those  endless  fences  he  had  been  building  lately. 
"  Whether  Devil's  work  in  the  Devil's  land  were 
not  territorial  improvement  after  all  ?  Further- 
more, what  degree  of  bravery  or  skill  was  attained 
when  the  shotgun  guard,  who  protected  his  water 
rights  for  him,  shot  down  the  only  transgressors, 
—  some  dying,  thirst-maddened  old  cows  ?  " 

There  is  only  one  thing  sterner  than  a  cruel 
man.  It  is  a  virtuous  woman. 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

One  night,  Bax,  clinging  affrightedly  to  her 
skirts,  had  heard  her  say  these  words  to  his  father : 

"  I  came  a  beggar  to  your  gates,  and  I  'm  go- 
ing back.  I  would  rather  die  than  live  as  your 
wife  has  to,  —  a  usurer  of  the  holiest  stewardship 
God  has  given  one  of  his  creatures  —  great  riches 
in  a  time  like  this." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  boy  ?  " 
old  Carl  had  taunted,  before  he  saw  she  meant  it. 

"  I  will  take  him  with  me,"  she  said  fiercely. 

The  essence  of  kindness  or  cruelty  is  the  capa- 
bility of  childish  minds.  The  long  quarrel  be- 
tween his  father  and  his  wife,  her  cold  determined 
Portia  face,  his  taunts,  commands,  and  entreaties 
were  haze  soon  after  to  the  little  child.  He 
supposed,  even  knew,  it  had  ended  as  other 
quarrels  had  done  after. 

"KI  love  you  —  be  mistress  —  stay  !  " 

The  child,  the  boy,  the  man,  Bax  remembered 
only,  clearly,  so  keenly,  it  blistered  still,  his  part 
in  that  little  scene  and  others.  It  was  a  scar  at 
last  from  the  growing  knowledge  that  he  —  son, 
only  child,  and  heir  —  was  unloved. 

It  had  been  sorry  and  noticeable  enough  when 
he  was  a  little,  little  child,  like  Don,  for  instance ; 
when  he  had  gone  to  sleep  and  wakened ;  sick 
or  well,  glad  or  lonely,  looking  into  his  mother's 
eyes.  It  was  bad  enough  now  when  the  earlier 
friend  was  gone,  and  his  own  fatherhood  opened 

156 


The  Deed  of  a  Faded  Daguerreotype 

the  old  sores  a  thousand  times ;  but  in  no  time 
had  it  ever  been  worse  than  when  he  was  in  his 
realer  boyhood  —  in  long  pants ;  in  the  very 
dawn  of  what  he  was  to  become.  Other  fellows 
at  college  —  he  was  fourteen  or  so  then  —  wrote 
letters  home  to  their  fathers  in  loving  familiarity. 
They  asked  as  idly  for  money  as  he  might  have 
asked  Shorty,  say.  In  return  they  got  jolly 
answers,  through  which  pride  stalked  with  a 
capital  "  P,"  and  he  had  never  a  line  save  from 
his  mother  !  He  grew  too  old  to  cry.  He  saw 
other  men  slap  their  sons  on  the  shoulders  and 
walk  off  with  them,  arm  in  arm.  He  used  to 
brace  his  little  shoulders  and  to  think  how  good 
his  mother  was.  When  he  read  or  heard  about 
one's  best  friend  being  one's  mother,  he  was 
always  the  first  to  feel  the  truth  of  it.  But,  when 
we  are  fourteen  or  fifteen,  it  is  sweet  to  be  loved 
by  a  man. 

He  felt  that  she  was  suffering  remotely,  too  ;  so 
he  never  said  anything  to  her,  save  only  once. 
It  was  when  she  chanced  to  surprise  him.  It  was 
visitors'  day  at  school,  and  his  school  just  then 
was  in  Chicago.  He  was  usually  very  lonely  and 
whistled  all  day  during  these  joyous  affairs.  But 
this  day  they  had  a  caller  for  him.  As  he  rushed 
into  the  parlor,  mad  with  joy,  he  saw  a  woman 
come  toward  him.  She  spoke  to  him  and  held 
out  her  arms.  She  probably  was  crying,  as 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

women  will,  on  all  occasions.  But  his  eyes  went 
over  her  shoulder  searching  here  and  there.  He 
was  no  hypocrite  with  her.  It  was  only  his 
coming  manhood  which  wanted  his  father  so 
very,  very  much.  He  thought  surely  his  father 
would  have  understood  and  come. 

Big  as  he  was,  she  held  him  in  her  arms,  rock- 
ing to  and  fro  herself,  like  one  in  wretched  agony, 
because  his  suffering  was  her  own  —  tenfold. 
She  chattered,  mumbling,  heartsick  comfort  to 
him,  meanwhile. 

"  O  mother  !  why  does  father  hate  me  ?  " 
(This,  you  know,  is  the  rod  God  uses.) 
"  Hush,  hush,  my    darling.      There   is    your 
Father  in  Heaven  !  "     To  herself  she  said,  over 
and  over,  only,  "  I  think  my  heart  will  break." 

But  that  was  ages  and  ages  ago,  and  since  then 
this  lonely  boy  had  grown  and  been  blessed  be- 
yond calculation ;  and  to  one  little  solemn  scrap 
of  a  cow-boy,  he,  a  Bax,  long  man,  was  giving  all 
the  pent  and  yearning  affection  he  had  once  asked 
for  himself. 

The  country  fell  into  these  states  of  privation 
periodically.  It  was  a  resurrection  of  all  his  past 
to  Bax. 

The  first  drought  after  his  mother's  death  had 
demonstrated  his  new  position  in  the  rule  very 
convincingly.  His  conscience  was  no  longer 

158 


The  Deed  of  a  Faded  Daguerreotype 

salved  by  her  power  at  the  ranch.  He  had  not 
known  how  she  had  fed  the  dove  of  peace  from 
her  very  casement,  until  shortly  after  she  died. 
There  had  been  bitter  words.  After  the  scene 
Shorty  described  on  the  stage,  he  had  gone 
forth,  —  his  wife,  his  child,  his  sense  of  right, 
his  faith  in  himself,  and  his  fearlessness  of  the 
world. 

He  came  back  two  years  or  more  after.  He 
was  then  at  the  physical  pass,  when  dying  or  very 
old  people  say  this  or  that  thing  does  n't  count. 
He  said  this  of  pride,  of  independence,  to  the 
last  trace  of  his  old,  strong  self.  At  his  final 
submission  to  what  was  really  Fate,  but  which  the 
world  called  his  father,  he  had  sat  before  a  cheer- 
less hearth,  sick  unto  death  almost,  resisting, 
until  a  woman's  arms  had  gone  around  his  neck, 
and  her  face  looked  into  his  face,  and  she  had 
said : 

"  You  have  to  go  back,  Bax  Weffbld ;  if  you 
love  me,  go !  Let  's  go  together."  She  was 
too  heart-broken  to  say  the  real  cause  to  him. 
She  could  only  add  irrelevant  scraps  like  this : 
"  Think  of  the  fine  air  of  the  mornings  and  the 
beautiful  landscapes  at  night." 

He  felt  as  if  he  were  expected  to  make  a  de- 
murrer, one  of  his  old  stock,  but  he  reached  in 
vain  for  the  old  violence  of  wrong  and  hatred. 
So,  not  understanding  the  change,  nor  yet  caring 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

to  deceive  her  as  to  their  being  none,  he  leaned 
back  and  said  very  simply  : 

"  After  all,  it  does  n't  matter,  Rel." 

She  never  expected  him  to  live  until  they  got 
there.  But  when  they  reached  the  interminable 
desert,  beyond  Yuma,  at  last,  she  looked  up  once 
to  say  : 

"  Are  n't  you  just  cooked,  Bax  ?  "  to  find  that 
he  was  looking  out  of  the  windows,  across  the 
sandy  plains  and  the  homely  cactus,  with  such  a 
famished  gladness  of  welcome  in  his  eyes  that 
she  sank  back  silent.  It  turned  out  that  his 
spirit  was  soothed  by  the  sight ;  for  later  he  lay 
very  quiet,  his  face  and  its  little  care  furrows 
seeming  more  tranquil  than  for  many  months. 

The  reason  I  tell  you  all  this  is  to  get  to  the 
Major's  agreement.  Bax  did  not  know  much 
about  his  own  physical  condition  just  then;  save 
to  feel  that  he  was  unable  to  earn  his  family  a 
living,  and  through  no  fault  of  his.  For  the 
bitterness  over  losing  his  power  to  support  them 
had  been  very  brief  and  sad.  First,  he  had  had 
to  give  up  his  better  place  because  mind  and 
body  and  soul  all  went  under;  and  when  he  got 
up  again,  he  was  cut  out  by  some  other  fellow. 
Then,  he  had  taken  anything  —  hard  work  on 
the  very  streets,  if  you  will,  and  they  had  done 
fairly  well,  he  and  Rel,  till  one  morning,  when  he 

160 


The  Deed  of  a  Faded  Daguerreotype 

went  to  cross  the  threshold,  he  had  simply  fallen 
before  he  had  ever  passed  it. 

He  never  realized  that  he  was  near  dying. 
He  was  only  aware  that  he  did  not  feel  as  he 
used  to  —  like  his  old  self,  as  it  were.  In  fact, 
Rel's  being  the  same  woman  did  much  to  keep 
his  own  identity  clear. 

They  came  slowly  into  Weffold's.  Nobody 
met  them  at  Short's  or  Hope.  Nobody  stood 
at  the  gate  in  welcome.  The  doors  beyond  it 
were  open,  it  was  true,  but  bare.  Carl's  son, 
the  wife,  and  little  grandson  waited  in  the  team 
outside,  while  Shorty  unhitched  the  gate  they 
were  to  drive  through.  They  rode  in,  got  out, 
without  a  word  or  look;  save  when  Bax  entered 
the  porch  with  his  silent  little  family,  he  stooped 
and  kissed  each  member  of  it,  as  if  in  welcome. 
But  no  one  spoke  to  him. 

The  Major  came  out  slowly.  His  glasses 
were  on  his  nose,  but  he  did  not  look  through 
them.  He  still  held  the  latest  San  Francisco 
paper  in  his  hand. 

"Wai,  Bax'n,"  he  drawled,  "so  you've  come." 

Mrs.  Bax  and  her  boy  went  to  the  old  room 
at  Bax's  intimation.  Once  there,  she  did  not 
seek  to  restrain  her  outraged  sense  of  fitness. 

"He    never    even    noticed    Don,"    she  cried 
again    and    again,    as    if  it    were    a   little   knife 
made  to   stab  herself  with, 
ii  161 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Meanwhile,  Bax  and  his  father,  separated  two 
years  and  but  just  met,  faced  each  other  outside. 
Neither  seemed  to  feel  an  inclination  to  sit  down 
while  continuing  the  conversation. 

"  Wai,"  the  old  man  said,  "  what  air  you 
thinking  ? " 

"  That  there  are  better  ways  of  getting  into 
your  grave  than  stepping  into  it,"  answered  his 
son,  not  smiling. 

Then  he  continued  almost  feverishly  : 

"  What  terms  shall  we  strike,  father  ?  " 

The  old  man's  smile  broke  into  a  bitter 
chuckle. 

"  Terms  ?  If  I  wanted,  I  could  strike  'em  with 
a  likelier  looking  partner  than  you." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Bax  simply. 

He  looked  at  the  old  man  longer  than  there 
was  any  need  for.  He  tried  to  frame  fit  strength 
for  the  fierce  storm  of  vituperation  deep  down  in 
his  soul,  but  he  could  not  manage  it.  He  went 
toward  the  door  with  all  the  hideous  hate  in  his 
eye  of  a  man  whose  hands  were  longing  to  seize 
some  throat. 

And  then  he  was  stopped. 

"  Bax  'n,"  his  father  called.  He  turned,  the 
cords  still  swollen ;  the  sick,  crushed,  feeble 
wrath  still  in  his  feverish  eyes. 

"  What  terms  do  you  want  to  make  ?  "  the 
Major  asked. 

162 


The  Deed  of  a  Faded  Daguerreotype 

(It  was  moreover  asked  gently.) 

"  I  came  down  to  get  work,"  blurted  Bax. 
"  No  one  else  would  give  it  to  me.  I  think  I  'm 
dying ;  but  you  are  my  father.  You  ought  not 
to  bar  a  man  out  for  that.  Thirty  dollars  a 
month  and  our  board." 

The  Major  said  nothing  for  a  minute  or  so. 
Then  he  asked  : 

"  Do  you  want  it  in  black  and  white  ? " 

"Yes,"  Bax  answered. 

They  turned  to  the  desk  together.  It  was  an 
old-fashioned  piece  of  furniture,  always  unfas- 
tened, but  very  bare,  very  neat ;  as  if  the  property 
of  some  one  at  an  age  beyond  accumulating  rub- 
bish. 

"  As  father  and  son  ?  "  asked  the  Major. 

"  As  master  and  man,"  answered  Bax. 

The  desk  had  stood  there  by  the  side  of  the 
house — in  this  open  room  (and  itself  quite  open) 
for  as  long  as  Bax  could  remember.  The  outer 
door  was  never  locked.  Different  papers  had 
lain  for  years  and  years  in  the  little  pigeon-holes 
and  compartments,  yet  no  one  ever  thought  of 
disturbing  them.  On  the  top  of  this  desk,  and 
for  as  long  as  it  had  stood  there,  there  had  lain  a 
daguerreotype  of  the  old-fashioned  order,  encased. 
It  was  of  Mrs.  Weffold. 

Yet  had  desk  and  portrait  both  been  in  an  iron 
safe,  they  could  not  have  been  more  protected,  — 

163 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

so  austere  and  exempt  were  the  Major's  posses- 
sions. 

Bax  stood  silently  beside  his  father.  The  old 
man's  eyes  fell  first  upon  the  daguerreotype.  As 
well  as  if  it  had  sprung  wide  open  of  a  sudden, 
he  may  have  seen  the  hidden  face,  perhaps,  the 
wide  pure  strange  eyes  which  had  never  known 
fear  of  him  or  other  man  in  them ;  the  sensitive 
rounded  chin,  so  like  her  son's,  the  whole  power- 
ful yet  delicate  spirituality,  of  which  he  had  ever 
been  in  awe.  It  may  have  been  influenced  by 
this,  or  it  may  not  have  been,  but  Johann  Carl 
WefFold  felt  in  a  certain  pigeon-hole.  He 
extracted  a  bundle  of  papers,  neatly  bound 
together  by  a  cord.  It  seemed  to  Bax  his  hands 
trembled. 

"  I  want  you  to  share  these  with  me.  They 
air  your  mother's  papers,"  he  said.  "  I  should 
rather  you  would  n't  read  them  all  until  —  till 
after  I  am  dead.  Thet  is,  the  majority  of 
them."  With  his  own  fingers,  he  separated  one 
of  these.  It  was  the  topmost.  He  spread  it 
wide  from  its  long  creases  with  an  oldish  me- 
thodical touch. 

"  It  won't  do  any  harm  fer  you  to  read  this," 
he  said  to  Bax. 

Bax's  hand  shook  as  he  reached  for  it.  It  was 
in  a  cramped,  Germanic,  unfamiliar  hand.  It 
read: 

164 


The  Deed  of  a  Faded  Daguerreotype 

"  I,  Johann  Carl  Weffold,  do  hereby  deed  to  my 
wife,  Louise,  a  one-half  interest  in  the  profits  and  con- 
trol of  the  Range  known  as  Weffold,  share  and  share 
alike,  until  death." 

It  was  almost  as  pitiable  to  Bax  as  a  tale.  He 
felt  a  sick  longing  to  see  his  mother  again,  to 
lend  his  yearning  manhood  to  her  support.  He 
had  known  but  the  gentlest  side  of  her.  In  the 
paper  Johann  Carl  held  out  to  him  now  was 
a  double  story. 

He  did  not  know  which  was  more  tragic,  — 
the  sickening  hold  of  her  pride  that  she  had  kept 
at  every  expense,  or  the  mightiness  of  his  father's 
love. 

He  handed  the  paper  back  in  silence. 

Old  Weffold  dipped  the  pen  into  some  ink. 
He  set  his  hand  firm  on  the  yellowed  paper  after 
the  fashion  of  old  men.  As  the  letters  formed 
beneath  it,  Bax  found  himself  under  a  spell. 
He  thought  of  Don  as  he  did  so  —  of  the  time 
when  he,  grown  old,  stiff,  paralytic  of  limb, 
might  — 

God !  what  love  at  the  thought !  what  prayers 
for  the  time  when  he  would  not  be  near  him,  dear 
little  young  son,  to  instruct,  save,  uplift ! 

Something  caught  in  his  throat  —  lingered  — 
was  still  there,  when  he  saw  that  codicil  of  the 
Major's. 


165 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  And  to  our  issue,  forever  —  in  the  name  of  God 
—  Amen  — Johann  Carl  Weffold," 

and  the  later  date. 

Even  to  Bax,  college-bred,  and  foster  son  of 
soulless  cities,  there  was  no  legal  absurdity  to 
that.  It  was  almost  barbaric  in  its  simplicity, 
its  solemn  intenseness.  He  had  been  used  to 
it.  It  was  a  breath  from  the  time  before  men 
bound  their  honor  by  seals  and  oaths.  He  was 
used  to  the  name  of  God  without  believing  in 
it.  Detached  from  any  conventional  phrasing, 
it  meant  "  On  honor,"  nothing  more  or  less. 
In  a  land  like  this  where  the  gun  is  still  the 
blind  goddess  —  why,  the  word  of  men  is  good 
enough.  It  holds  often  enough,  and  if  it  does 
not,  why,  you  are  a  self-elected  judge,  and  often 
there  is  no  jury. 

He  staggered  into  Rel  that  day.  He  re- 
membered that.  She  was  sitting  on  the  bed 
and  crying,  doing  her  handkerchief  up  into  a 
damp  little  ball  to  mop  her  face  and  undoing 
it  during  intermissions.  He  recognized  the 
mood  with  wonderful  humorous  yearning  in- 
dulgence. He  took  her  into  his  arms.  He 
realized  her  position  to  him  —  how  angelic  her 
former  strength,  how  penetrating  this  lovable 
weakness.  He  said :  "  I  was  cold,  cold  to  my 

166 


The  Deed  of  a  Faded  Daguerreotype 

father.  He  has  been  more  than  generous  to 
me.  Laurel,  tell  me,  have  you  ever  thought 
it  ?  Have  I  erred  all  through  ? " 

While  she,  woman-like  (though  I  blush  for  it), 
said  nothing  relevant.  She  just  lay  against  him 
and  sobbed  and  sobbed.  He  used  jocosely  to 
say  that  he  had  to  gain  strength  from  that  mo- 
ment, —  so  philosophic-wise  did  she  look. 

"That  last  night  in  the  Hyde  Street  back 
r-room,  Baxie,  w-when  we  pawned  my  little  1-locket, 
I  k-knew  something  good  would  turn  up." 

Part  of  Carl  WefFold's  issue  sat  in  the  empty 
fireplace  while  this  was  going  on  ;  it  seemed  just 
made  to  fit  him.  The  soot  had  a  novel  charm. 

While  as  for  old  Carl  himself,  he  watched  Bax 
WefFold  stagger,  miserable,  dazed,  branded  as  her 
own  of  Heaven,  through  the  door.  Then  he 
smiled.  It  was  not  the  smile  of  a  philanthropist. 
It  told,  yet  not  all  —  nor  of  entire  kindness. 
His  eyes  roamed  here  and  there,  to  the  bundle 
of  papers,  laid  back  just  as  they  were  before, 
as  if  that  one  little  clause  were  only  a  freak 
of  fancy.  His  gaze  travelled  back  —  back.  He 
could  not  detain  it.  Something  drew  and  drew 
it.  His  eyes  grew  fixed  and  fearful.  For  one 
moment,  the  frantic  terror  of  ghosts  seemed  in 
them. 

167 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Then  he  walked  out  into  the  air  and  left  his 
conscience.  He  walked  —  it  would  soon  be  over. 
It  could  not  pursue  him.  It  was  no  one —  noth- 
ing, old-fashioned,  unbeautiful,  inanimate. 

Merely  a  little  shabby,  faded  daguerreotype. 


1 68 


PART    SECOND 


ON   UNPRACTISED   "SCIENCE" 

A  BIG  summer  tent  was  constituting  ladies' 
parlor  at  Weffbld's.     It  lay  east  of  the 
burning  bricks,  which  cooled  a  little  as 
the  sun  slanted  westward.     But  the  sun  had  not 
slanted  readily.     It  had  seemed  to  mount  with 
the  superb  insolence  of  its  power  and  hold  the 
throne  of  the  sky  for  long ;  very  long,  thought 
the  tired  laborers,  who  mopped  their  discolored 
faces,  their  toil-marked  brows. 

Four  ladies  stood  inside  this  white  little  build- 
ing, saying  good-bye. 

One  was  young  Mrs.  Weffold's  sister,  the  girl 
who  had  come  there  the  August  before,  and  who 
belonged  in  Chicago. 

"You  really  should  not  go  so  soon,"  she 
exclaimed,  yet  moving  toward  the  door,  as  she 
said  this. 

Young  Mrs.  Weffold  repeated :  "  Do  spend 
the  afternoon  with  us,"  hospitably.  But  the 
short,  stout  one,  who  was  watching  Miss  Lau- 
rence, suddenly  decided  that  they  had  better  not. 

171 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Her  name  was  Blenshaw.  She  wore  ankle  skirts, 
and  believed  in  woman  suffrage. 

"  You  are  quite  brave  to  believe  in  woman 
suffrage  way  down  here,"  Robbie  had  said.  "  It 
is  so  warm,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

The  lady  had  argued  all  the  morning  forcibly 
with  her.  She  said  it  was  bigotry  in  Miss 
Laurence  of  an  unusual,  almost  unrecognizable 
order. 

"  Like  phases  of  the  grippe,"  Robbie  said, 
helping  her  out  suavely. 

"  Yes  !  "  the  woman  had  answered ;  "  principle 
was  not  a  question  of  zone  or  temperament  — 
would  n't  Miss  Laurence  see  it  ?  —  but  of  right." 

She  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  Miss  Lau- 
rence. She  liked  Mrs.  Weffold.  She  thought 
Mrs.  Weffold  would  have  been  a  very  nice 
woman  if  she  were  not  a  fool  over  that  very 
mediocre  child. 

Mrs.  Weffold,  in  turn,  used  to  say  often,  "  No 
one  is  worth  much  who  does  not  like  children." 
It  was  an  unalterable  decision,  so  her  opinion 
repelled  compromise. 

The  little  thin,  nervous  lady,  whose  husband 
was  merely  a  trammer  in  the  mine,  had  no  such 
violence  of  energy  either  for  or  against  in  her 
mind.  As  she  said  good-bye  to  the  ladies,  she 
remarked : 

"  It  seems  almost  improbable  we  stayed  to 
172 


On  Unpractised  "  Science  " 

lunch.  We  only  intended  spending  an  hour  or 
so.  We  enjoyed  the  strawberries.  It  is  almost 
impossible  to  get  such  luxuries  in  town.  Straw- 
berries is  very  pleasant  on  a  warm  day,  are  n't 
they  ?  " 

Robbie  looked  weary. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  "watermelons  is  the  only 
thing  pleasanter." 

Mrs.  Bax  flushed  a  little.  Mrs.  Blenshaw 
held  out  her  hand  to  the  girl. 

"  Miss  Laurence,  you  will  try  and  like  the 
country  better  now,  won't  you  ? "  she  asked. 
"  As  I  have  been  trying  to  tell  you,  you  do  not 
really  dislike  it.  You  imagine  you  do.  Now,  you 
must  get  oblivious  to  this  feeling.  That  is  real 
Christianity." 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Blenshaw.  I  am 
quite  a  willing  disciple,  I  am  sure.  I  shall 
become  oblivious  very  shortly,  I  keep  telling 
my  sister.  I  shall  die  of  Arizona.  Is  death  real 
Christianity,  too  ?  Now  that  is  the  new  point,  is 
it  not  ? " 

She  went  to  the  gate  with  them  herself,  and 
stood  on  the  path  inside  it,  watching  them  recede 
up  the  road.  Their  country  boots  were  dust- 
covered,  white,  thick  ;  their  skirts,  rough  material 
and  common ;  their  shirt  waists,  pitiable,  she  said. 
She  called  things  strong  names  those  days. 

Mrs.   Blenshaw   carried  a  parasol,   large    and 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

uncouth,  like  an  umbrella.  She  held  it  over 
the  other  little  lady  as  they  walked. 

Miss  Laurence  smiled  to  herself,  as  she  gazed. 
Then  she  flitted  about  the  path  a  bit,  as  if 
temporizing.  She  examined  a  stunted  fruit-tree 
near,  trying  to  wonder  if  its  meagre  crop  were 
late  peaches  or  almonds.  She  spent  another 
minute  or  so  trying  to  open  a  tightly  closed  bud 
of  a  little  rose  beside  her. 

Then,  with  something  tangible  in  view,  closed 
the  flapping  little  gate  at  last,  which  Mrs.  Blen- 
shaw  had  left  half  open.  Afterward  she  went 
back  to  the  tent.  It  was  decked  with  some 
worthless  woman's  fixings,  which  yet  gave  the 
necessary  feminine  atmosphere,  so  to  speak.  A 
cloud  of  summer  goods  lay  around  young  Mrs. 
Weffold.  She  was  working  on  it. 

Robbie  stood  a  second  or  so  above  her. 

"  I  know  that  they  thought  that  was  my  trous- 
seau," she  remarked  flippantly,  to  start  with. 
"Everybody  thinks  of  a  trousseau  first  of  all." 

Mrs.  Bax  raised  a  darkened,  stormy  face. 

"  You  sha'n't  insult  my  friends,"  she  cried. 
"You  are  unbearable,  lately.  You  have  no 
respect  for  anything.  It  is  wicked." 

"  I  don't  know  any  better,"  the  girl  returned, 
listening,  but  her  expression  not  changing  from 
sheer  graceful  indifference. 

"You  do  know  better,"  Mrs.  Bax  cried. 
'74 


On  Unpractised  "  Science  " 

"You  said  that  on  purpose.  It  is  the  grossest 
inhospitality." 

"  Once,"  the  girl  returned  in  the  same  voice, 
but  with  unimpeached  powers  of  repartee,  as 
usual,  "a  lady  invited  a  country  woman  to  call 
upon  her.  Seeing  the  country  woman  make 
lemonade  out  of  her  finger-bowl  water,  the  lady 
made  lemonade  out  of  hers  also,  and  drank  it. 
I  have  always  wondered  if  it  agreed  with  her, 
after  dinner." 

"  I  won't  waste  words  on  you,"  Mrs.  Bax  said, 
white  with  anger.  "  You  are  very  sinful,  I  say." 

Robbie  sat  down  in  a  rocker  at  this. 

"I  think  that  is  bigotry  of  an  unusual,  almost  an 
unrecognizable  order,"  she  commenced  gravely, 
with  such  a  faint  Blenshaw  ring  it  was  delicious 
mimicry.  "  Morals  are  not  a  question  of  manners. 
I  may  be  inhospitable,  abominable,  ill-bred,  and 
yet  be  perfectly  moral." 

She  leaned  back  and  covered  her  face  all  at 
once  with  a  Mental  Science  pamphlet,  that  Mrs. 
Blenshaw  had  insisted  on  placing  in  her  hand  as 
she  left.  Mrs.  Bax  could  not  see  her  face  after 
that.  Her  chin  was  tilted  and  perfectly  motion- 
less, so  as  to  keep  the  paper  in  position. 

Presently  she  said,  "  I  wish  my  name  were  St. 
Laurence." 

"  —  Why  ?  "  answering  herself. 

"  So  it  would   sound    better   in  the    Chicago 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

papers,  when  they  pick  up  the  Arizona  { Sun- 
beam '  and  see  the  notice  of  my  death,  with  little 
additions  such  as  these  :  *  Chicago,  San  Francisco 
papers  please  copy.  New  York  Journal  please 
note,'  etc.,  etc.  Are  n't  you  laughing  yet  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  laugh  at  you  again," 
Mrs.  Bax  returned. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  you  will,"  the  girl  exclaimed  gayly, 
jumping  up  —  her  natural  self.  "  I  am  awfully 
sorry." 

"  How  can  you  ? "  Mrs.  Bax's  voice  was  for- 
giving, but  she  did  not  countenance  it  at  once. 

The  girl  looked  rueful.  "  I  don't  think  I  am 
so  very  bad,"  she  said;  "being  dull  I  like \  to  be 
entertained." 

Then  she  took  up  a  piece  of  work.  It  was 
cream,  like  her  own  skin,  and  the  nimble  little 
hands  took  hold  of  it  deftly. 

"  I  presume  people  will  think  me  stuck  up," 
she  said,  "having  a  new  dress  for  the  party. 
Yet  the  old  one  was  washed  into  a  veritable  rag 
before  I  abandoned  it  to  Sal's  mercy.  I  don't 
know  what  kind  of  material  the  town  women  use, 
but  it's  a  regular  country  idea.  Some  tawdry, 
unwashable  stuff,  that  gets  dowdy  the  first  time 
they  wear  it.  Anything  to  wear  a  new  dress  each 
party. 

"  They  always  hate  the  people  who  try  art  on 
rags,  a  la  Cinderella's  comforting  god-mamma." 

176 


On  Unpractised  "  Science  " 

She  sighed. 

As  their  two  heads  bent  over  the  sewing,  her 
voice  kept  going  steadily,  in  a  little  overflowing 
way  that  she  had  of  talking.  It  was  musical  only 
periodically ;  at  other  times,  flat  and  rather  weary  ; 
and  occasionally,  hard. 

"  If  I  had  stayed  in  Chicago  last  year,  I  would 
have  seen  some  of  the  country  also ;  where  Elsie 
and  her  mother  most  care  to  go  is  on  a  farm 
in  Ohio.  We  rest  there  absolutely  one  whole 
month.  It  is  flat,  fertile.  A  river  runs  through 
it,  shaded  by  cool,  drooping  trees ;  everything 
is  idyllic,  like  Browning's  verses  about  the  country 
in  Saul.  I  was  reading  it  this  morning."  She 
reached  over,  picked  up  a  book,  and  let  her  eyes 
fall  on  a  page  of  it,  and  then,  with  one  sweeping 
little  gesture,  threw  it  far  out  of  the  tent. 

Mrs.  Bax  said  nothing. 

"  Browning  is  a  fool,  you  know.  Imagine 
having  written  this  nonsense  for  us  to  read 
here !  "  She  commenced  reciting  from 

"  And  I  first  played  the  tune  all  our  sheep  know." 

Her  voice   was   singularly    sweet   then.     When 
she  came  to 

"  Where  the  long  grasses  stifle  the  water  within  the  stream's  bed," 
she  said : 

"  There  is  no  such  place  on  earth  of  late,"  and 
there  was  such  a  homesick  strain  in  the  little 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

voice  which  said  it,  that  Mrs.  Bax  knew  the 
yearning  eyes  looking  out  of  her  desolate  little 
tent  door  held  simple,  solemn,  unanalyzed  tears. 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  home,  Rob  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Some  time,  not  just  this  minute,"  recover- 
ing flimsily. 

"  I  am  going  on  with  my  narrative.  Then  we 
would  have  come  home  in  October,  say.  There 
would  be  lots  of  dressmaking,  oceans  of  invita- 
tions, driving  through  the  rain  at  night,  breathing 
the  perfect  clear  air  of  the  city  after  the  clamor 
of  the  day  was  ended,  and  the  whole  country  was 
having  its  dear,  provokingly  steady  bath. 

"  Christmas  —  loads  of  gifts  to  give  and  receive 
—  h-e-re  !  "  she  laughed. 

"  No  end  of  parties.  May  be  I  should  have 
become  engaged  to  some  college  boy.  I  was 
quite  the  biggest  favorite  of  us  all  with  the  set. 
They  were  so  callow,  they  thought  my  sinfulness 
[here  she  curtsied],  wit. 

"  Then  all  Chicago  would  have  said,  '  How 
lucky!  that  envious  little  Laurence  thing  cap- 
turing So-and-So's  millions.  But  it  always  takes 
a  smart  man  to  have  a  fool  for  a  son/  The  older 
men  liked  Elsie.  There  was  nothing  to  disap- 
prove about  her." 

"  I  am  sure  they  liked  you,  too." 

"  They  did  n't.  I  can  always  tell.  Well, 
gayety  would  have  continued  until  Lent  com- 

178 


On  Unpractised  "  Science  " 

menced.  Lent  let  us  out  of  that,  except  giving 
our  dearest  friends  afternoon-tea  without  cream 
or  sugar.  For  a  month  each  season  I  used  to 
embroider  an  altar  cloth  for  a  church  Elsie 
patronized  a  bit.  It  was  tedious  slavery.  If 
they  had  not  been  so  kind  to  me,  I  should  have 
torn  it  every  season  into  shreds. 

"Just  this  time,"  ended  Miss  Laurence,  spring- 
ing to  her  feet  and  going  to  the  tent  door,  "  we 
would  be  making  our  country  gowns  again  — 
long,  easy,  flimsy,  darling  negligees,  Laurel. 
Imagine,  pale,  Acadian,  greenish  !  to  wear  while 
we  watched  clean,  well-fed  Bonheur  cows  stand- 
ing in  —  water  —  "  She  blurted  out  her  mirth 
this  time  between  the  words,  as  if  Mrs.  Bax 
couldn't  grasp  such  a  pastoral  picture — "up  to 
their  knees,  — just  think  !  " 

The  ever-present  echoes  carried  her  laughter 
back,  until  it  seemed  that  she  and  the  country 
were  mocking  each  other  fiendishly. 

Mrs.  Bax  ran  a  seam  attentively.  She  tried  to 
give  all  her  thoughts  to  it. 

Then  the  high,  thin,  taunting  little  voice  had 
started  in  again. 

"  So  this  is  your  spring —  not  a  spear  of  grass 
on  plain  or  hilltop,  a  sun  gone  perfectly  mad 
overhead,  playing  the  wrong  role  for  every  season, 
swelling  bricks  which  are  scorching  even  in  May 
to  the  touch." 

179 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

She  reached  one  hand  out  from  where  she 
stood.  The  tips  of  four  white,  scornful  little 
fingers  showed  against  the  red  adobe  just  one 
instant  or  so,  then  dropped.  "  Cattle,  horses, 
men,  mad  for  water.  Is  there  never  a  time  when 
it  will  cease  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Rel,  "  and  grow  better." 

She,  no  one  better,  knew  the  limit  of  such  a 
worked-up  passion  as  this  of  Robbie's  was  now, 
and  she  decided  to  stop  it,  if  she  could. 

"  Grow  better  !  Oh,  what  a  travesty,"  cried 
the  girl.  "  Why  — why —  do  people  live  here  ?  " 

"There  are  men  for  all  purposes,"  the  older 
woman  replied.  "  Unless  men  had  founded,  others 
could  not  have  built.  Unless  men  had  discov- 
ered, others  later  could  not  have  civilized.  Un- 
less blood  had  been  spilt  by  some  for  its  entrance, 
peace  would  not  be  enthroned  in  our  land  ;  say 
what  people  will  of  it." 

"  Oh ! "  the  girl  answered  to  all  of  this,  as  if 
the  argument  were  too  large  to  enter. 

"  Do  men  ever  succeed  here  ?  "  she  asked  her 
sister  next. 

"You  know  they  do,"  Mrs.  Bax  replied. 
"  The  whole  condition  improves  year  after  year, 
so  Bax  tells  me.  These  water  famines  are  all 
we  have  to  fight  now.  The  Apaches  menace 
progress  no  longer.  Some  day,  when  there  is 
enough  capital,  immense  irrigation  schemes  will 

180 


On  Unpractised  "  Science  " 

be  conceived,  consummated  ;  men  will  embrace 
the  possibilities  time  has  produced  for  them ; 
and  our  cattle  will  see  their  millennium." 

Her  own  eyes  softened  almost  divinely  now, 
because  it  was  over  some  lowly  things  the 
humaneness  was  hovering. 

Robbie  said  nothing  this  time  in  answer.  She 
stood  against  the  post  at  the  door,  clad  in  light 
—  slim,  graceful,  dainty.  She  would  say  no 
more  about  it  aloud.  Her  feelings  choked  her. 
"It  was  not  airing  an  affectation  of  civilization," 
she  was  saying  to  herself,  "  to  confess  to  this 
strangling  over  the  yearly  failure  of  all  resur- 
rection." 

The  cattle  were  too  weak  for  the  giant  repro- 
duction which  makes  stock-raising  countries  so 
prosperous  from  time  to  time.  The  little,  stum- 
bling, doomed  calves  which  survived  the  first 
throes  of  existence,  lay  peacefully  enough  shortly 
after,  hollow,  never-filled-out  little  shapes,  rebuk- 
ing Mother  Nature. 

"  Robbie ! " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Are  you  crying  ?  " 

«  No !  " 

"  Laughing  ? " 

"  No,  I  say." 

"  What  are  you  doing  then  ?  " 

"  Simply  being  assimilated,  as  you  were." 
181 


MASTER? 

WHEN    Mrs.    Blenshaw's    timid    little 
companion   had  said  to  the  Weffold 
ladies,  "  My  husband  says  Mr.  Garnet 
has  set  men  to  digging  a  well  for  the  mine,"  there 
were  several  things  connected  with  her  statement 
which  she  did  not  know. 

Mr.  Garnet's  attempt  was  apt  to  be  very  futile, 
merely  a  hopeful  little  effort  of  his  own  to  reach 
a  spring  some  old  countryman  had  told  him 
ought  to  be  near  the  foot  of  the  hill,  due  west 
of  the  great  yield. 

"  Years  ago,  there  had  been  a  natural  stream 
of  water,  when  the  Weffold  Valley  was  being 
settled  up.  Old  Carl's  d'minion  could  not  tech 
on  this."  The  young  superintendent  stood  over 
the  spot  one  day  with  the  weather-warped  old 
frontiersman  in  conference.  The  latter  was  spit- 
ting huge,  dripping  chunks  of  ungenteel  tobacco 
right  and  left.  After  pointing  to  the  spot  which 
he  fancied  remembrance  dictated  as  a  good  place 
to  dig,  he  regarded  it  as  insufficient,  so  he  made 
a  brown  discolored  circle  about  it,  which  the 
young  master  tried  to  look  at  leniently,  as  it 
might  come  to  mean  a  great  deal  to  him. 

182 


Master  ? 

It  would  not  only  insure  immense  financial 
profit,  relieving  the  mine  of  the  exorbitant  taxa- 
tion, which  subjection  to  old  Weffbld's  rates 
entailed,  but  it  would  make  happier  conditions 
for  the  people.  They  bought  drinking  water  by 
the  barrel  now  and,  previous  to  this  past  year,  had 
done  their  little  washing  with  the  old  refuse  water 
from  the  mine.  The  Chinaman  on  Weffbld's 
own  place,  in  fact,  had  irrigated  with  this  also. 

Now  with  the  country  parched,  unfed  for  a 
year  as  it  was,  the  dull,  red  stream  from  the  hill 
was  no  longer  a  useful  element  to  the  landscape. 

The  ditches  had  long  become  dry,  rather  deeper 
little  paths  than  usual  now,  with  a  thin  cake  of 
mud  still  on  them.  Water  would  not  remain  in 
them.  It  either  sunk  into  the  thirsty  earth,  or 
did  not  resist  evaporation  ;  so,  when  Simmons  saw 
this  had  come  to  pass,  he  ordered  it  turned  back 
time  and  again  into  the  tanks,  that  they  might 
re-use  it. 

Claude  said,  "  Very  well." 

Now  he  was  forced  to  do  it,  but  previously  his 
ideas  of  economy  had  not  been  subject  to  Sim- 
mons, who  was  bookkeeper  and  manager  of  the 
force. 

Simmons  thought  Claude  would  have  been  well 
enough  winning  a  boat  race  at  Harvard,  but  he 
was  not  the  right  man  for  business.  Not  at  all. 
Simmons  called  it  being  cc  too  damned  universal." 

'83 


Mrs.  Simmons  did  not  understand  the  phrase, 
but  imagined  he  meant  not  stylish,  or  select 
enough,  for  a  rich  man. 

He  said  that  if  the  people  wanted  water  to 
wash  in,  let  them  buy  it  like  civilized  human 
beings,  or  go  dirty.  It  was  not  as  if  there  were 
no  alternative.  Claude  said  twenty  cents  a  barrel 
in  this  sort  of  weather  meant  going  dirty  ;  and, 
for  his  part,  money  they  had  made  in  the  place 
was  n't  going  to  be  padlocked  from  it,  every  way 
one  turned. 

He  never  refused  any  reasonable  petition  on 
his  mercy  as  steward  of  Dick's  money  or  that  of 
the  others.  Once  or  twice,  when  Simmons  turned 
a  man  off  for  drinking,  he  put  him  back  again, 
after  a  brief  period  of  Mrs.  Fitzsimmons's  reflec- 
tions and  his  own. 

"  You  '11  have  to  let  up,"  Simmons  had  cried 
once,  losing  his  well-guarded  temper,  and  ham- 
mering the  desk  a  blow  that  nearly  split  it  into 
pieces.  He  was  afraid  for  his  own  place  a 
moment  later,  having  never  gauged  the  young 
superintendent's  disposition  in  that  line  ;  but  was 
resolved  to  see  it  through  : 

"  I  won't  have  my  authority  thwarted,  belittled, 
before  that  mob  of  ignorant  laborers." 

"  I  don't  think  I  thought  of  you  at  all,  Sim- 
mons," Claude  said,  when  the  outburst  was  over. 
"  I  owe  you  an  apology." 

184 


Master  ? 

"  It  was  not  paying  you  much  of  a  compliment, 
dear,"  Mrs.  Simmons  had  said  when  she  heard 
it,  "  choosing  between  you  and  a  common  person 
like  that,  and  considering  him.  It  was  certainly 
not  illustrative  of  his  refinement." 

"  That  is  the  most  confounded  part,"  blurted 
out  her  outraged  lord  and  master,  "  not  working 
for  a  gentleman." 

He  thought  it  was  an  obsolete,  coarse-grained, 
close-to-the-earth  Dutch  ancestor  in  young  Claude 
cropping  out. 

These  little  incidents,  trivial  as  one  may  think 
them,  were  rifts  within  the  lute  ;  Simmons's  jeal- 
ousy of  Claude's  being  above  him,  and  the  idle- 
tongued  trammer,  who  had  told  his  wife  about 
the  well. 

She  did  not  know  that  it  was  a  secret.  No 
one  of  the  listening  ladies  did.  Miss  Laurence, 
the  young  lady,  had  taken  more  interest  than  any 
one  else  in  it,  if  the  truth  be  told. 

She  had  said :  "  When  they  are  digging  a 
well,  would  n't  you  think  the  poor  dear  men  who 
didn't  die  of  suffocation,  would  die  of  fright?  " 

That  was  all. 

But,  not  ten  feet  from  her,  the  Major  had  heard 
every  word  which  was  said.  The  worst  of  having 
persons  like  the  Major  around,  is  that  we  get  to 
disregard  them  as  wholly  human  after  a  while. 

185 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

They  become  more  like  the  great  social  evils  we 
are  cognizant  of  existing,  but  powerless  to  remove, 
so  it  is  better  not  to  heed  them. 

It  was  the  most  unforgivable  of  the  commis- 
sions against  him. 

On  a  day  like  this,  he  often  sat  for  hours  at  a 
time  behind  the  vines  on  the  porch  already 
mentioned.  This  was  not  far  from  the  door  of 
Mrs.  Bax's  little  summer  tent.  He  could  hear 
the  noise  of  her  machine  constantly,  as  if  he 
had  but  to  look  up  and  conjure  a  picture.  Other 
men  might  have  liked  it. 

The  very  hum  was  damning  to  his  every  nerve 
and  impulse  after  a  while ;  he  hated  her  so  entirely. 
He  had  no  cause  individually,  perhaps,  for  so 
doing,  except  she  was  a  part  of  his  son's  success, 
poor  as  this  was  in  a  worldly  measure. 

As  for  Mrs.  Bax,  she  even  knew  he  was  there. 
Passing  in  and  out,  she  saw  him.  She  imagined 
that  he  was  not  reading  all  the  time,  but  she 
never  imagined  he  was  listening  —  or  that  he  was 
interested  in  them  enough  to  listen. 

When  the  trammer's  little  wife  let  fall  her  one 
independent  little  sentence,  he  leaned  nearer  the 
vine-clad  wire  which  separated  them  from  him. 
He  heard  more,  —  the  conversation  in  which 
Miss  Laurence  was  so  wearied  a  listener.  There 
was  no  real  romantic  interest  to  her  in  Mr.  Gar- 
net's digging  for  a  well :  "  boring  "  was  the  word 

186 


Master  f 

the    trammer    had    used,   but    it    had    become 
perverted. 

Yet  when  old  Weffold  straightened  up  again, 
he  was  smiling  inscrutably.  He  often  smiled  so 
to  himself,  when  he  saw  some  way  to  prove  his 
power,  some  one  else's  powerlessness.  It  meant 
"  I  will  teach  them,"  generally. 

He  took  a  greater  interest  in  the  conversation 
from  then  on.  He  heard  the  strangers  go. 
After,  when  Robbie  leaned  against  the  tent-post, 
becoming  "  assimilated,"  he  saw  her  closely,  dis- 
tinctly. He  saw  the  neatly  clothed,  drooping, 
girlish  form,  with  its  lively  personality  deadened, 
drawn  from  her  for  the  time ;  the  pretty,  speech- 
less face  downcast,  as  if  she  were  awaiting  some 
summons  :  he  watched  her  curiously.  She  be- 
came like  some  one  to  him.  He  did  not  try  to 
formulate  the  resemblance  ;  but  it  was  like  his 
wife.  He  was  half  afraid  of  Robbie  at  times. 

Occasions  such  as  this  fanned  the  slumbering 
fires  within  him.  The  progress  of  the  world 
without  him,  even  this  remote  effort  which 
might  yet  defy  his  position  in  the  country,  the 
usurping  of  the  public  interest  by  these  all- 
powerful  New  York  rivals,  —  was  more  than  he 
could  bear  long.  Some  day  they  would  not 
need  him.  They  would  be  independent  powers, 
snapping  their  loosed  fingers  in  his  face.  He 
would  "  teach  them  "  beforehand,  he  said. 

187 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

There  was  no  good  or  loving  woman  to  draw 
him  from  these  bitternesses.  It  was  his  own 
fault,  in  a  measure.  He  had  blocked  every  path 
of  human  affection  between  him  and  the  world. 
He  was  working  out  his  life  for  himself,  without 
God,  the  fear  or  faith  of  hope,  the  nobility  of 
love.  He  had  had  one  brief  season  of  fierce 
animal  joy,  then  his  wife's  body  lay  without  its 
soul.  He  had  buried  the  body,  and  she  was  no 
more.  If  there  were  a  God,  he  blamed  God  for  it. 
If  there  were  no  God,  it  was  less  bitter,  easier  to 
bear,  merely  the  way  of  all  flesh. 

Sitting  there  that  afternoon,  he  reviewed  his 
own  life,  in  a  way  he  had  of  doing.  Nothing 
vivid,  of  strong,  enduring  nature  came  out, 
consoling  him  over  the  chasm  Death  lets  yearn 
here  and  there  through  our  days.  Everything 
was  lifeless,  —  a  woman  he  owned  but  could  not 
understand ;  a  pile  of  riches ;  a  little  bit  of  a 
fair-haired  child  staring  at  him  across  his  own 
groaning  table.  The  face  may  have  changed  from 
time  to  time,  but  the  great,  solemn,  wondering 
eyes  were  changeless.  Bax  Weffold  owned  them 
now. 

He  stood  up,  straightening  his  limbs.  There 
were  times  when  his  age  lay  in  them  —  heavy, 
remindful,  numb  ;  then  he  went  out  across  the 
yard  slowly.  He  saw  his  little  grandson  playing 
by  the  pond.  He  saw  how  he  broke  the  very 

iSS 


Master  f 

back  of  the  child's  content.  He  decided  to 
speak  to  him.  He  said  harshly : 

"  Well,  young  man,  what  d'  you  think  ? " 

The  child  had  his  inseparable  friend,  the 
elephant,  beside  him.  His  head  drooped.  He 
did  not  answer ;  but,  as  the  old  man  turned  off 
sharply,  mumbled  terror-stricken  little  words, 
tried  to  reach  him. 

He  could  not  love  his  grandfather ;  but,  with 
all  the  pathos  attached  to  many  cases  of  self- 
protection,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  the 
elephant  did.  It  seemed  to  insure  him  ;  so,  after 
sighing  over  his  return  to  extreme  isolation,  the 
little  fellow  commenced  playing  again. 

But  the  old  man  walked  on,  over  his  pos- 
sessions. 

The  next  morning  Claude  took  hold  of  his 
correspondence  busily.  He  felt  as  if  he  could 
accomplish  something ;  he  was  even  humming 
a  favorite  air  from  one  of  the  old  operas. 
Suddenly  he  stopped  short  and  faced  a  cramped, 
quaint,  unusual  hand  adorning  a  town  envelope. 
Without  really  saying  it  was  from  Carl  Weffold, 
he  recognized  the  handwriting  as  one  he  had  seen 
on  some  original  incorporation  papers  Dick  had 
left  in  his  charge. 

It  was  almost  impossible  to  mistake  it  —  a 
conservative,  contemplative,  accruing  hand,  with 

189 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

plenty  of  German  blood,  of  however  long  ago, 
in  it. 

He  opened  it  curiously. 

It  imparted  the  information,  that  the  contract 
between  Hope  and  Weffolds  for  water  expired 
the  first  of  the  month  before  them  and  would 
not  be  renewed. 

That  was  all. 

Claude  saw  nothing  objectionable  in  it  except 
the  ill  will.  That  was  barely  tangible,  but  turned 
it  from  a  polite  communication  into  an  almost 
fiendish  plot  to  make  their  poor  Dick's  rich  find 
a  paralyzed  power.  He  did  not  read  doom,  but 
endless  reductions  from  it  financially. 

During  the  last  months,  money,  success,  and 
power  had  become  conspicuously  dear.  This 
came  flashing  through  him  for  the  first  time. 

Then,  with  a  quick,  authoritative  gesture,  he 
touched  a  bell  above  his  desk.  It  was  the  first 
time  he  had  ever  done  so,  and  it  went  ringing 
through  the  shops  beyond  him,  almost  start- 
lingly. 

A  foreman  hurried  from  them  to  him.  He 
was  standing,  waiting  to  give  the  order.  His 
face  was  set  a  trifle,  and  rather  pale. 

"  Let  more  men  be  put  to  boring  on  the 
well  below  us,  please.  Work  must  be  con- 
stant on  it.  I  am  sure  they  will  be  successful 
after  a  while." 

190 


Master  9 

When  the  man  went  out,  he  winked  publicly 
at  one  of  his  companions : 

"Want  to  warm  your  hands,  lightnin'-like," 
he  joshed  drolly,  "jus'  go  put  'em  on  the  Boss' 
office.  Something  must  be  a-doing,  Jack  the 
Giant  Killer  has  awoked  at  last." 


191 


A   DREAMER   AND  SOME  DREAMS 

A~TER  a   little   solitary  reflection,    he   re- 
solved to  mention  it  to  no  one,  not  even 
Simmons,  who   perhaps   had  a  right  to 
know.     He  fought  desperately  with  his  own  con- 
ception of  what  was  right.     He  was  more  than 
half  in  love  with  Robbie.      He  had  no  authority 
or  desire  to  visit  her  relative's  decision  on  her,  to 
allow  an  old  man  like  Carl  Weffold  to  destroy  what 
seemed  like  a  fair  chance  at  great  joy  in  his  life. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  repugnance  to  any 
friendliness  between  them  was  almost  intolerable. 
So  he  concluded  to  go  at  night-time,  when  the 
possibility  of  meeting  would  be  removed,  but  the 
whole  principle  of  this  grew  wrong  to  him  ;  so 
he  went  down  as  usual  in  daylight,  and  half-way, 
ran  across  the  Major,  in  his  light  little  buggy, 
riding  toward  the  town. 

He  touched  his  hat  as  usual,  and  then  held 
up  his  hand,  signifying  he  would  like  the  old 
man  to  stop. 

The  light  was  magnificent  about  them  ;  yellow 
as  the  gifts  of  old  Mother  Earth  to  her  lucky 
children. 

192 


A  Dreamer  and  Some  Dreams 

Claude  put  his  hand  on  the  buck-board. 

"  Major,"  he  exclaimed  boyishly,  yet  with  a 
simple  uncultivated  directness,  "what  was  the 
real  meaning  of  your  message  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Thet  I  am  going  to  wean  the  country,"  the 
old  man  returned,  smiling.  "  Hereafter  Carl 
Weffold's  interest  will  more  'n  occupy  my  time." 

Claude  went  off  down  the  road  to  Weffold's. 
He  smothered  hot,  hasty,  unnatural  words,  such 
as  the  miners  indulged  in  freely.  He  separated 
his  business  and  social  self  after  a  hard  little 
struggle.  He  tried  not  to  think  of  the  Major. 
He  was  going  to  see  the  woman  he  loved. 

Claude  resolved  two  things  later. 

One  was  to  work  steadily  on  the  well  he  had 
located  beneath  them.  The  other  was  to  watch 
Bax  Weffold  more  closely  those  days.  He  had 
reason  to  believe  the  men  were  not  so  well  satis- 
fied with  Bax  Weffold  as  formerly.  He  had 
heard  one  say  one  day  in  ear-shot  of  him : 

"  Bax  Weffold  is  a  dreamer." 

And  the  other  answer  : 

"  As  well  call  him  by  the  other  name  at  once." 

"What  is  it?" 

"A  fool." 

He  even  imagined  Bax  was  shielding  his  father 
behind    his  own  former  popularity  those   days. 
'3  193 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

He  wished  he,  himself,  were  older,  worthier,  to 
be  Bax's  friend. 

But  there  was  something  unintelligible  between 
them  that  spring.  Afterwards,  he  knew  it  was 
sorrow,  but  then  he  called  it  a  different  tongue,  as  if 
he  had  presumed  to  interpret  voices  of  the  field : 

God's  man  of  the  field  Bax  was. 

But  to  tell  Bax's  story,  we  must  go  back  a  bit 
in  his  history —  to  the  winter  before.  It  was  one 
of  the  old,  unyielding,  tormenting  seasons,  which 
opened  every  sore  in  his  life,  when  the  ground 
lay  blistered ;  when  cattle  died ;  when  day  after 
day,  they  were  to  toil  and  yet  receive  not.  With 
spring,  great  sand  storms  swept  the  very  face  of 
creation,  tauntingly.  . 

Yet,  in  this  very  barrenness,  in  all  the  unconquer- 
able desolation  of  nature,  Bax's  long  dream  grew 
more  real  to  him  like  a  sterile  field  about  to  break 
and  bear  at  last.  Against  every  impulse  of  physical 
determination,  he  toiled  early  and  late  in  the  field. 
Mornings  you  could  see  him  riding  far  off —  one 
with  no  living  being  —  his  head  raised,  his  chest 
filled,  his  whole  gaunt,  lofty  figure  gaining  a  pas- 
sion from  the  very  needs  of  the  coming  day. 

So  a  lover  might  woo  all  nature ;  now  bending 
low  in  coaxing  whispers,  now  calling  to  her 
masterfully. 

But  it  was  all  of  no  avail. 
194 


Seeing  it  was  no  use  hoping,  he  went  to  work 
doggedly.  He  had  never  felt  so  before ;  even  in 
his  courtship.  The  labor  was  glorified  for  the 
time.  He  did  not  know  what  it  was  at  first,  a 
sort  of  spiritual  golden  dawn  by  which  all  life 
became  more  lofty. 

In  reality,  life  was  approaching  its  climax,  and 
his  Sangreal  yet  unwon. 

There  were  moments  when  even  his  wife 
seemed  to  intrude  on  some  heart-work  he 
cherished.  Presently,  his  health  wore  beneath  it, 
like  a  rock  worn  smooth  by  the  sea.  Sometimes 
a  desire  possessed  him  like  the  little  sobbing 
spirit  of  a  child.  He  called  it  weakness,  grad- 
ually a  little  child's  sorry  weakness,  never  cured, 
because  the  little  thing  he  had  once  been  was  no 
one  different,  only  the  former  little  creature  lost 
in  him,  grown. 

He  wanted  to  make  his  father  love  him.  He 
had  wanted  his  father's  love  all  his  life,  now  if 
only  to  carry  into  that  camp  beyond  him,  to 
prove  himself  before  great  judges  a  conqueror  on 
earth.  (All  men  are  dreamers,  or  stalwart 
punchers ;  but  this  was  both  dream  and  folly, 
save  as  eternity  may  judge  it.)  So  the  unfriendly 
faces  of  men  were  turned  for  the  first  time  toward 
him,  yet  in  vain.  Rel  said  more  than  once,  "  You 
are  not  listening.  Of  what  are  you  thinking, 
Bax  ? "  but  he  did  not  heed  her.  The  love  he 


bore  her,  received  from  his  child,  had  made  all 
the  stronger  a  yearning  within  him  to  embrace 
all  creation  as  his  friend. 

A  good  doctor  would  have  said,  "  Be  careful." 
When  the  dream  received  its  first  awakening 
jar,  he  broke  without  being  able  to  suffer.  It 
was  then  springtime,  an  afternoon  when  Robbie 
had  heard  tentative,  rambling  rumors  from  Claude 
about  the  country. 

Bax  was  coming  up  from  the  lower  fields  near 
nightfall.  Not  a  laborer  had  slaved  through  the 
famine  harder  than  he.  Thanks  to  his  unswerv- 
ing labor,  there  was  no  sign  about  the  Major's 
acres,  save  of  prosperity.  He  deserved  his  "  well 
done,"  poor  Bax. 

He  walked  on,  stumbling  now  and  again,  as 
he  traversed  the  irregular  mounds  and  ditches 
which  marked  Lon's  irrigation  scheme.  Pres- 
ently, he  saw  the  Mongolian  before  him,  bending 
over  a  row  of  stunted  vegetation.  He  looked  a 
sullen  creature  —  a  rebellion  of  trampled  clay  to 
nature.  Yet  he  had  been  a  kind,  smiling,  civil 
fellow  enough  in  other  days. 

Bax  called  :  "  Lon,  how  're  you  a-making  it?" 
He  was  in  a  mood  to  awaken,  to  understand 
that  night.  He  observed  the  Chinaman  did  not 
stir.  For  a  second,  he  could  not  believe  it.  Then 
the  cords  swelled  out,  and  he  was  very  angry.  It 
swept  through  him  like  a  storm.  He  stood  until 

196 


A  Dreamer  and  Some  Dreams 

it  was  over.  Then  he  felt  more  able  to  control 
the  situation  through  himself.  He  was  still  trem- 
bling, but  he  did  not  do  much  as  you  or  I  would 
have  done.  He  was  of  different  mould.  He  had 
much  of  the  hopelessness  of  his  fatherland  in  him, 
with  great  veins  of  lovable  forbearance.  Men 
absorb  such  qualities  from  their  mother's  milk. 
It  is  not  entirely  individual,  second  nature  rather. 

He  knew  the  Chinaman  had  heard  and  repelled 
him,  but  he  was  no  civilized  gentleman,  only  a 
country-bred  fellow,  used  to  natural  equality,  so 
he  did  not  resist  a  desire  to  kick  the  mongrel 
into  submission  again.  In  fact,  he  had  no  such 
desire. 

He  had  learned  in  his  country  training  to  give 
all  men  an  equal  chance  ;  so  he  turned  on  his  heel 
sharply  and  crossed  that  part  of  the  field  between 
them  and,  by  his  very  presence,  made  the  China- 
man look  up. 

"  Lon,"  he  asked,  "  did  you  hear  me  ?  " 

The  fellow  edged  off  a  little,  as  if  he  were  afraid 
of  something.  He  still  had  a  stooping,  sullen 
look  to  his  form,  but  presently  said,  looking  up 
furtively  at  his  questioner : 

"Yes,  Meesa  Bax." 

The  American  walked  off.  He  wore  great, 
rough  country  shoes,  and  they  dug  into  the  hard 
dry  earth  as  he  walked.  He  barely  noticed. 
Once,  as  he  neared  the  inner  gate,  a  dog  leaped 

197 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

from  the  shadow  somewhere  and  stretched  heavy 
paws  the  whole  length  of  him,  barking  joyously 
the  while. 

Then,  as  Bax  went  on  in  silence,  the  sense  of 
smell  brought  his  farm-yards  to  him  keenly,  like 
a  whiff  from  his  boyhood.  By  it  he  placed  his 
ducks  over  here,  huddled  by  the  wind-mill  drip- 
pings. They  were  silent  also,  unusually  so. 
There  stood  the  hen-houses  he  had  helped  to 
build,  the  corrals,  the  little  hay-sheds  upon 
which  the  turkeys  went  to  roost  at  night,  mak- 
ing grotesque  silhouettes  at  times.  He  heard  the 
restless  movement  of  his  few  home  horses.  He 
went  on  beyond  them.  He  tried  not  to  pity 
himself,  rather  to  feel  brave  and  hopeful. 

Just  then,  at  the  fence  which  he  had  to  pass,  a 
figure  seemed  to  rise  before  him.  It  was  Robbie, 
he  knew. 

She  did  not  speak  but  laid  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  almost  affectionately  for  her. 

"  I  had  something  to  say  to  you,"  she  said, 
"so  I  came  out  when  I  heard  Nero  bark.  I 
don't  think  Nero  is  a  considerate  name.  Fancy 
calling  a  child  Judas." 

It  was  one  of  her  own  irrepressible  side-tracks. 

He  said : 

"  You  know  I  have  never  been  superstitious." 

"  But  this  does  not  involve  superstition,"  she 
replied.  "  You  are  absent-minded." 

198 


A  Dreamer  and  Some  Dreams 

"  Moral  superstition,  then,"  he  returned,  with- 
out much  argumentative  enthusiasm  to  it. 

They  leaned,  both  together,  almost  side  by 
side,  on  the  corral  fence.  Her  words  were  vital 
when  they  were  uttered  : 

"  Do  you  know  some  one  is  making  money 
out  of  the  drought  ?  " 

"  Making  money  out  of  the  drought  ?  "  he  re- 
peated, word  for  word,  as  if  they  were  new  things 
to  him. 

"Yes,  Lon's  rates  have  been  raised  enor- 
mously," she  observed. 

She  stood  up,  on  her  tiptoes  he  felt,  and  tried 
to  peek  over  the  fence  before  her,  as  if  deter- 
mined not  to  say  any  more. 

He  felt  her  unmentioned  hate  of  his  father 
stronger  than  if  it  were  uttered,  may  be.  A  long 
shuddering  motion  swept  over  his  body  once. 
He  seemed  barely  conscious  of  it.  His  dream 
was  over,  but  there  was  nothing  left  him  save  to 
wait  the  crisis  ;  for  the  tide  had  gotten  mighty 
while  he  slept.  Thus,  these  many  forces  ap- 
proached July  with  the  rest. 


199 


AN  INTERLUDE  ON  MATHEMATICS 

BETWEEN  whiles  Claude's  and  Robbie's 
love  story  progressed  prettily. 
There  were  days  when  they  found  life 
an  intoxicating  dream.     The  mystery  itself,  rides, 
meals,  men,  were  a  wonderful  part  of  the  delu- 
sion.    Again,  perhaps,  she  would  sit  with  a  hun- 
dred worlds  between  them,  deteriorating,  as  he 
watched   her,  from  a  perfect  yet  companionable 
Venus  into  a  stiff,  conventional,  little  girl-woman, 
situated  behind  a  thousand  ridiculous  defences. 

Thus  Claude  was  like  all  heroes.  He  did  not 
understand  a  woman's  humors  all  at  once,  and  so 
proved  his  one  vulnerable  spot,  like  Achilles. 
On  such  occasions,  he  called  her  in  his  heart  a 
coquette,  and  went  up-town  later,  swearing  to 
call  on  some  native  belle  instead.  And  great 
would  be  his  wrath  that  evening,  and  cynical 
the  reveries  he  indulged  in,  under  the  far-off, 
romantic,  glorious  stars.  This  is  true,  and  I  leave 
you  all  to  verify  it.  When  a  man  has  never  been 
in  love  before,  there  is  only  one  thing  more  ex- 
quisite than  the  torment.  It  is  the  joy. 

200 


An  Interlude  on  Mathematics 

May  be  he  would  call  on  some  native  belle 
(here  is  an  injustice  and  to  the  native  belle  this 
time),  and  then  go  to  tell  Robbie  of  it,  trying 
to  enjoy  the  sick,  sore-sort  of  look  which  came 
into  her  face  soon  after ;  resisting,  for  the  sake  of 
his  dignity,  taking  her  into  his  arms,  as  nature 
dictated,  and  ending  the  whole  tremulous  little 
play  at  once. 

But  something  instinctively  forbade  him.  At 
deliberate  thoughts  of  marriage  with  her,  he  felt 
a  sickening  sense  of  unrest  and  disquiet,  as  one 
may  feel  whose  house  is  sand,  but  not  quite  so 
proven. 

He  wanted  her  fullest,  noblest,  unquestioning 
love  in  return.  It  must  be  servant  to  neither 
time  nor  place,  environment  nor  condition. 
When  this  seemed  hard  to  —  critical  of  her, 
he  despised  himself,  and  felt  like  a  brute,  and 
kept  away  from  her  presence  more  hours  — 
it  was  seldom  longer  —  than  usual.  Then  be- 
fore him,  strengthening  his  strength  when  he  went 
back,  was  the  union  of  her  own  sister  and  brother- 
in-law.  It  created  the  high  ideal  again.  He  felt 
less  would  be  unsatisfactory,  but  he  did  not  cease 
loving  his  little  friend  for  that.  He  only  yearned 
over  the  ultimate  result  he  craved,  when  she 
would  one  day  stand  before  him,  come  to  him, 
saying  this : 

"  Not  because  you   are  a  Garnet,  for  all  you 

2OI 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

live  in  this  deserted,  godless  place,  your  loving 
helpful  wife,  Claude  !  " 

He  did  not  understand  her  all  at  once,  you 
see.  In  less  deliberate  moments,  he  seemed  un- 
worthy to  be  to  her  all  he  should.  The  easy 
wit,  the  accomplished  calm,  and  the  intermittent 
brilliancies  of  manner  seemed  superior,  insur- 
mountably so.  He  contrasted  her  with  Mrs. 
Bax  then.  He  saw  how  she  was  easily  the  pro- 
totype of  what  Mrs.  Bax  had  become.  The 
elder  justified  the  future.  He  often  loved  Mrs. 
Bax  through  Robbie,  worshipped  Robbie  through 
Mrs.  Bax.  The  quaintness  of  wit  which  both 
shared,  the  same  impetuous  play  of  mood,  the 
sudden  helpless  appealing  remorses,  were  two- 
fold snares  to  him. 

It  is  compensatory  to  find  these  things  under 
a  scorching  sky. 

As  for  Robbie,  she  appreciated  the  phases 
independent  of  their  quality.  She  was  even  one 
of  the  few  women  who  enjoy  getting  angry. 
The  pent  wrath  would  invariably  climax  into  a 
fierce  little  storm,  she  would  stamp  her  feet, 
weep,  forgive,  or  be  forgiven,  and  feel  uncon- 
scionably refreshed. 

In  other  language,  she  would  be  good-natured, 
willing,  even-tempered,  for  days  afterward.  It 
was  in  this  manner  that  she  spent  her  courtship. 
She  concealed  no  mood,  cloud  or  shine,  from 

202 


An  Interlude  on  Mathematics 

Claude.     It  was   honesty,  and   of  a  bewildering 
sort. 

The  confession  was  indeliberate,  elusive,  some- 
thing you  could  neither  grasp  nor  accuse  her  of. 
If  she  had  taken  herself  to  task,  she  could  not 
have  resisted  the  concentrating  force  of  their 
having  come  to  this  country,  met,  loved,  known; 
but  her  escape  from  such  a  reasoning  was  help- 
less, feminine,  characteristic  of  woman  to  a  degree. 
Simply,  she  was  not  in  love  with  him.  We  all 
believe  these  non-analyses  for  a  time. 

Then  the  awakening  is  delight  or  torture  of  a 
positive  and  unconquerably  triumphant  kind. 

Then  there  was  Mrs.  Bax.  She  never  said,  "  Be 
careful.  You  are  ruining  your  chances,  dear,"  as 
older,  calmer,  more  mistaken  women  might  have. 
Her  acceptance  of  the  situation  was  girlish.  It  had 
even  a  gallery  enthusiasm  to  it,  Robbie  said,  using 
one  of  her  own  small  caustic  speeches. 

Still,  however  ingenuous  her  interest,  it  was  of 
a  married  sort,  strictly  speaking.  There  is  a  line, 
you  know.  She  never  avoided  maidenly  words, 
like  intentions,  marriage,  proposal.  It  is  merely 
a  change  of  view,  as  it  were,  but  it  seems  tre- 
mendous before  it  is  accomplished. 

She  gave  a  great  sigh  one  day,  when  Bax  and 
she  were  left  alone  by  Robbie,  Claude  having 
come  and  gone. 

"  To  watch  people  make  such  blind,  obstinate 
203 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

fools  of  themselves  is  like  a  continued  story, 
exasperating.  I  don't  think  I  will  be  able  to 
stand  it  after  a  while." 

Bax  told  her  it  was  wrong  to  interfere,  and  she 
cried  :  "  Who  was  interfering  ?  "  The  only  thing 
she  did  not  really  like  about  him  was  his  timidity 
about  negotiating,  accelerating  marriages  (matches 
was  the  word  she  used),  as  if  he  had  been  so  un- 
happily married  himself. 

He  said  :  "  No,  not  necessarily.  Rather  so 
happily  married.  That  was  it." 

The  soul  few  men  saw,  only  felt,  rose  in  a 
fashion  to  his  eyes.  They  impelled,  sought, 
adored,  —  all  three. 

She  turned  her  head  away  swiftly,  with  a 
superficial  attempt  at  not  giving  in  to  him. 

"  I  believe  you,  but  it  is  illogical,"  she  cried 
weakly. 

Still,  since  one  unfortunate  lapse  from  reserve, 
she  'd  said  nothing  at  all  to  her  sister. 

It  had  been  quite  late,  more  so  than  usual. 
Claude  and  Robbie  had  sat  just  out  of  ear-shot, 
under  their  window,  the  moonlight  flooding  the 
space  in  which  they  sat.  It  was  picturesque, 
sentimental,  pretty.  Now  and  again,  Robbie 
had  touched  some  little  finger-notes  for  him  on 
Mees  Bax's  violin.  Then  a  song  or  so  from  this, 
infrequently  accompanied.  It  was  quaint,  free 
little  music  like  joyful  fairy  hosts  at  play. 

204 


An  Interlude  on  Mathematics 

The  air  was  vague  with  trembling,  pervasive 
sentiment.  When  they  bade  each  other  good- 
night, Robbie  made  for  her  own  little  staircase. 
She  longed  to  be  alone  in  her  little  attic  room, 
not  even  Rel  this  evening.  Her  heart  was  astir 
with  its  little  burdens ;  little,  I  should  not  use 
the  word :  out  of  such  burdens  and  women 
nations  are  made  and  lost. 

Into  this  tender  scene  an  almost  unforgivable 
element  was  introduced.  It  was  the  head  and 
shoulders  of  young  Mrs.  Weffold.  Her  hair 
was  negligee,  and  her  form  en  deshabille,  to  a 
startling  measure.  She  was  in  her  night-dress, 
and  spoke  with  unwonted  animation. 

"  Did  he  propose  ?  "  she  asked. 

Robbie  burst  into  tears. 

She  said  it  was  cruel,  cruel,  cruel  !  Mr.  Bax, 
awakened  out  of  his  slumbers,  tried  to  assure  her 
it  was  not.  Mrs.  Bax,  still  en  deshabille,  sat  apart 
and  made  impenitent  remarks  on  the  subject 
from  time  to  time.  Once  she  said  very  loudly, 
yet  not  above  the  tone  in  which  ladies  quarrel : 

"  If  you  were  n't  so  disappointed  yourself,  you 
would  n't  feel  so  badly  about  it." 

Then  Robbie  said  she  was  going  home.  She 
could  n't  stand  it  any  longer.  Right  then,  too, 
if  you  please ;  and,  choking  and  sobbing,  made 
toward  her  own  little  staircase,  presumably  to 
pack  her  trunk.  But  someway  it  was  Mrs.  Bax's 

205 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

arms  she  got  into,  and  nothing  would  do  but 
they  must  go  off  together  to  talk  it  over  in  Rob- 
bie's room,  so  as  not  to  awaken  Don  and  the 
elephant.  They  were  only  sorry  this  separated 
them  from  Bax.  Bax  looked  very  resigned,  and 
felt  he  could  bear  this  separation.  They  amused 
him,  save  as  to  time.  He  was  sleepy ;  yet  hus- 
bands learn  all  these  things  by  degrees.  He  was 
almost  in  his  room  again,  when  Robbie  rushed 
down  the  stairs. 

"  Bax,  dear  old  Bax  !  "  she  cried,  kissing  him 
with  sisterly  fervor,  "  you  took  sides  with  me 
against  your  wife  ;  I  will  never  forget  it." 

"  He  always  does  those  things,"  Mrs.  Bax 
said,  very  simply,  hardly  realizing  how  it  sounded. 
"  He  knows  I  will  understand." 

Bax  was  nearly  asleep  when  she  came  back 
to  their  room.  He  watched  her  as  she  moved 
about. 

"  Rel,  are  n't  you  coming  to  bed  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  not  just  yet,"  she  answered,  "  I  want 
to  talk  to  you." 

"  It  must  be  midnight.  You  girls  have  been 
silly  enough,"  he  returned. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  it 's  only  eleven.  See  !  I 
have  my  slippers  on  and  this  double  gown.  Bax, 
listen." 

A  fairy  lamp  burned  over  the  great  open  fire- 
place, and  by  this  he  saw  her  go  to  the  child's 

206 


An  Interlude  on  Mathematics 

little  crib,  and  kneel  down,  and  fold  her  arms 
around  it  and  croon-like  over  the  tender  form. 

"  Rel,  Rel  !  "  he  cried.  It  was  the  quiet,  little 
tone  which  brought  his  presence  to  her  —  his 
mateship  to  her,  one  should  not  mince  at  the 
word.  How  it  stirred  love  to  speech  within  her  ! 

"  Oh,  Bax,  it  is  sweet  to  have  had  the  joy, — 
my  boy  !  " 

She  was  moving  around  in  quick,  restless 
fashion,  and  suddenly  threw  herself  on  the  floor 
by  his  side.  He  put  out  his  arms  and  caught 
her. 

"  Oh,  Bax,"  she  said,  "  oh,  Bax,  barely  God 
can  separate  us  now  !  This  is  eternal.  What  is 
death  to  such  love  ?  Bax,  won't  you  answer  ? 
We  belong  to  one  another  —  we  and  our 
children." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  forever,  I  hope." 

She  still  kept  his  hand,  but  sank  down  in  a 
heap  on  the  floor  at  his  bedside. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  you  will  take  cold." 

"  No,  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  Bax, 
how  do  men  propose  ?  " 

His  face  softened.  Above  her  head,  he  was 
privileged  to  enjoy  her  whimsicalities. 

"  Once,"  he  returned  mock  gravely,  "  a  poor 
fellow  must  have  proposed  to  you.  Why  not 
ask  him  about  it  ?  " 

"  But,  Bax,  —  men  nowadays  are  so  silly.  I 
207 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

am  sure  Claude  likes  Robbie,  and  may  be,  after  a 
long,  long  time,  we  might  induce  her  — " 

"  Oh,  Rel,  now  !     To  me  !  " 

"  Well,  why  does  n't  he  ask  her  ?  Listen, 
'Will  you  be  my  wife?'  —  five  words,  five  silly 
little  words,  Bax  !  Men  are  such  cowards.  As 
well  hesitate  and  go  into  foolish  and  tormenting 
heroics  over  f  please  pass  the  bread  ! ' 

"  May  be  we  forget,"  said  Bax. 

"  Were  you  ever  such  a  fool,  now,  Bax  ? " 

He  gave  a  low  laugh.  He  could  afford  it. 
She  felt  deep,  happy  notes  struck  by  it  from  his 
very  soul. 

"  Listen,  c  Please  be  my  wife  — ' ' 

"No,  please  to  the  bread,  Bax,  not  to  the 
woman.  One  learns  that  even  in  school.  Either 
a  tone  of  command  or  entreaty,  nothing  ever 
mediocre.  You  should  remember  that,  lest  you 
marry  again." 

"  Well,  without  the  please,  then  — c  Will  you 
be  my  wife  ? '  The  words  sound  horribly  familiar. 
Rel,  I  Ve  said  them  myself,  brave  and  all  as  you 
think  me.  Why,  I  can  see  myself  rehearsing 
them  now.  *  Miss  Laurence,  please  pass  the 
butter.  Laurel,  will  you  be  my  wife  ? '  That  is 
very  life-like.  I  remember  it  all,  now.  I  be- 
lieve it  was  my  first  lesson.  It  had  variations 
afterward." 

"  You  're  making  fun  of  me,"  she  cried.  Still 
208 


An  Interlude  on  Mathematics 

she  reached  both  hands  upward,  and  he   lay  in 
the  shadow,   holding  them    both. 

"  No,  I  'm  not.  I  tell  you,  it  is  like  a  dream, 
now,  but  it  happened;  and  though  the  gentleman 
in  question  grew  to  be  a  staid  enough  sort  of  old 
fellow  afterward,  why,  nevertheless,  he  suffered 
this  temporary  aberration." 

"Do  tell  me." 

"  What  you  would  have  me  say,  vain  woman, 
is  about  the  cause.  It  was  very  tall,  and  deserv- 
ing of  any  flights  like  this.  Are  you  coming  to 
sleep  like  a  sensible  woman  now  ?  " 

"  Bax,  did  I  imagine  it  once,  but  years  ago, 
when  we  stood  by  the  well,  and  I  asked  for  a 
drink  of  water,  did  you  nearly  say  — " 

"  May  we  both  drink  out  the  same  cup  for- 
ever ?  I  was  equal  to  it  then,"  said  Bax. 

"  No,  oh,  no,  that  is  awful,  that  is  horrid, 
destroying,  Bax ;  but  did  you  really  try  to  mum- 
ble something  about  the  water  of  life  ?  Robbie 
imagined  Claude  did  something  like  that,  and  it  was 
a  resurrection.  Still  I  could  hardly  believe  —  " 

"  But  men  do,"  urged  Bax.  He  stretched  and 
laughed  aloud  with  enjoyment.  It  went  through 
her  to  every  nerve. 

"  How  did  you  eventually  ask  me,  Bax,  dear  ?  " 

"  Eventually,  I  dropped  on  my  knee,  I  pre- 
sume, in  the  orthodox  fashion,  and  asked  you 
like  a  knight  of  old." 

14  209 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  No,  you  did  n't,  now  !  " 

"  I  wrote  you?  "  Bax  ventured,  much  ashamed. 
He  knew  these  little  things  hurt  women. 

tc  Eventually,  sir,"  she  replied  with  a  fine 
assumption  of  anger,  "eventually  you  never 
asked  me.  Bax,  how  could  you  have  been  so 
lacking  ?  What  if  Don  ever  finds  out  ?  " 

"  If  I  never  asked  you,  how  were  we  married, 
mein  frau  ?  " 

She  laughed  now.  It  was  like  a  ripple  in 
music.  They  were  looking  deep  into  the  tried 
true  souls  of  each  other.  Through  that  look  she 
said,  still  smiling : 

"  We  understood." 

But  Claude  had  never  been  married.  He 
could  not  presume  to  understand.  He  felt  too 
uncourageous  to  try,  even  in  impetuous  moments. 

Other  times  he  only  wandered  as  far  as  the 
imaginary  hedge  which  separates  all  early  lovers 
for  a  stage.  Once  in  a  great  while  he  had  leaned 
over  —  oblivious  of  everything  for  the  instant  — 
toward  her  side. 

Then  there  would  be  her  mood,  perhaps,  to 
bring  him  to  himself  again,  like  a  little  marble 
statue,  wondering,  undecided,  chilling ;  yet,  for 
one  little  instant,  he  had  thought  it  human 
enough  to  kiss. 

Of  course  there  were  all  manner  of  moments. 

2TO 


An  Interlude  on  Mathematics 

One  of  these  —  brave,  because  he  was  going 
away,  and  sure,  because  he  had  not  seen  her, 
lovely  with  both  charm  and  fault  —  was  when  he 
had  wandered  one  afternoon  down  to  Weffold's, 
only  to  find  the  place  deserted  except  by  Sal. 
She  let  him  wander  around  by  himself.  The 
great  vine-clad  porch  was  strung  with  a  hammock, 
its  pillow  still  dented,  where  a  head  had  lain.  A 
book  lay  face  downward  on  the  floor.  It  was 
Carlyle's  "  Heroes." 

Claude  picked  it  up,  skimming  sympathetically 
the  forsaken  pages,  yet  he  was  not  even  thinking, 
perhaps,  of  Robbie,  till  he  saw  opposite  this  sen- 
tence she  had  scribbled  a  remark  in  pencil: 

"  And  now,  if  worship  even  of  a  star  had  some 
meaning  in  it,  how  much  more  might  that  of  a 
Hero.  ...  It  is,  to  this  hour,  and  at  all  hours, 
the  vivifying  influence  in  man's  life." 

Her  words  were  a  little  wandering,  ill- written  : 
"  I  don't  believe  this." 

Suddenly,  obeying  a  sweeping  impulse,  he  wrote 
positively  next  to  this,  just  — 

"  You  do  !  " 

Then  he  left. 

Much  of  the  wasted  intensity  which  was  after- 
ward spent  in  avoiding  the  understanding  in  this, 
was  more  than  counteracted,  perhaps,  by  the  mo- 
ments which  were  not  so  intense.  As  when  he 

211 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

had  told  a  lady  before  her  one  day  —  that  he  had 
five  little  nephews,  and  she  had  replied :  "  No, 
four  !  Had  n't  Mrs.  Dick  told  them  ?  " 

He  commenced  to  count  them  —  deliberate, 
unconscious,  deferential,  as  usual. 

He  said : 

"  Mr.  Ralph's  two  —  Edward's  three  —  Mr. 
Dick's  four." 

The  lady  stared  politely ;  so  he  commenced 
again,  starting  in  at  the  other  end  on  this  occa- 
sion, as  if  it  would  work  out  differently : 

"  Mr.  Dick's  one  —  Mr.  Edward's  two  —  Mr. 
Ralph's  four." 

As  the  lady  waited,  while  he  turned  a  dull, 
torturing,  unexplainable  red,  he  heard  Robbie 
laughing. 

She  was  saying,  in  her  Chicago  way,  but  with  a 
note  beneath  he  interpreted  as  kindly: 

"Let  me  do  it.  Mr.  Ralph's  two  is  three  — 
Edward's  four —  Dick's  five  !  " 

When  they  said  "good-bye,"  he  could  not 
look  at  her,  jest  over  it,  only  suffer. 

It  would  be  unendurable,  seeing  the  concealed 
mirth  in  her  eye.  Stung  by  his  misconception, 
she  let  him  go,  and  then  cried  because  of  the  un- 
necessary cruelty  of  his  position.  Don  had  been 
the  fifth  one  in  his  mind  at  the  time. 


212 


SUMMONS'S   ADVICE 

IT  was  July  the  second. 
The  great  man  of  Hope  sat  before  his  desk 
in  the  mine-office.  He  was  busy  over  some 
papers  apparently  ;  but  when  Simmons,  the  book- 
keeper, was  not  looking,  he  gave  a  side  study  to 
the  seminary  handwriting  on  an  envelope.  It 
had  evidently  been  addressed  to  Mr.  Garnet  first, 
with  so  much  space  between  the  Mr.  and  the  Gar- 
net, the  writer  had  been  able  to  slip  in  the  Claude 
afterward,  without  much  inconvenience  attached 
thereto.  Claude  wondered  why,  as  he  looked. 
She  had  really  had  no  reason,  but  it  gave  them 
both  something  nice  to  do.  As  for  the  book- 
keeper, he  was  balancing  some  columns  appar- 
ently ;  but  when  the  great  man  of  Hope  looked 
especially  busy,  Simmons,  in  his  turn,  made  a  side 
study  of  him.  This  kept  up  for  some  time. 

Occasionally,  the  eyes  of  both  men  wandered 
out  toward  the  town.  There  were  moments 
when  one  could  not  see  it.  Great  gusts  of  hot, 
swirling  sand  enfolded  it  now  and  again,  as  it  were 
the  embrace  of  some  elemental  giant.  Then 

213 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

there  'd  be  a  blue  sullen  sky,  yet  deep  with  suave 
hellish  beauty,  an  atmosphere  between  earth  and 
sky,  almost  visible,  it  was  so  disordered ;  and 
lower,  the  parched  sand-swept  earth,  as  if  a  warm, 
whitening,  feverish  breath  were  blowing  over  it. 

This  continued  to  grow  as  an  impression,  until 
Simmons  did  not  try  to  stand  it.  He  was  not 
made  to  submit  exactly. 

He  simply  said  aloud  : 

"  I  '11  be  damned ! "  and  leaned  over  the 
table.  The  whirlwind  went  high  this  time. 

Claude  did  not  give  any  intimation,  save  to 
cover  the  seminary  handwriting  entirely  now, 
until  Simmons  pushed  his  chair  back  to  the  wall, 
and  gave  up  altogether. 

Then  Claude  said  to  the  other : 

"  I  don't  think  you  need  worry  about  hurrying 
it  along.  The  end  seems  to  be  coming  pretty 
nicely  without  much  aid." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  returned  the 
book-keeper,  belligerently.  He  was  a  big  fellow, 
and  the  heat  made  him  ill-natured.  He  did  not 
want  to  force  words  with  one  of  the  Garnets,  but 
his  patience  was  becoming  exhausted.  Old  Wef- 
fold  had  ceased  their  supply  the  day  before.  It 
was  pretty  generally  known  now.  He  felt 
enraged,  the  mere  strength  in  him.  Imagine 
several  hundred  people,  an  almost  endless  stock- 
ing of  good  American  dollars,  one's  pride  and 

214 


Simmons' s  Advice 

independence,  at  the  mercy  of  one  untrammelled 
old  Dutch  fool  of  a  miser.  When  Simmons  did 
not  like  people,  nor  approve  of  some  unexpected 
trait  in  them,  he  laid  it  to  the  Dutch.  He  had 
become  especially  fond  of  this  location  for  every 
human  weakness  since  he  had  been  associated  with 
Claude.  Obstinacy  was  the  word  he  had  not 
searched  far  enough  for. 

He  felt  Claude's  well-scheme  to  be  almost 
absolutely  futile.  After  two  hundred  and  sixty 
feet  of  boring,  they  had  acknowledged  it  was 
almost  useless  to  continue. 

But  Claude  had  not  countermanded  his  order. 
He  said  it  would  only  be  a  day  or  so's  difference 
at  most,  and  he  would  like  to  try  it.  He  did 
not  mean  to  be  antagonistic  really,  but  was  full 
of  the  sheer,  direct,  power-wasting  effort  of  the 
young.  We  do  such  things  at  play,  when  chil- 
dren ;  but  it  is  recuperative  triumph  in  the  end. 

For  his  part,  Simmons  did  not  mean  unkindly 
to  Claude  or  to  the  mine.  He  took  the  whole 
situation  more  complexly,  that  was  all.  He 
knew  a  good  deal  about  the  workings  of  the 
company  also,  and  if  Claude  had  not  been  sent 
in  charge  of  it,  he  would  have  rather  expected  the 
sinecure  himself. 

At  any  rate,  he  felt  privileged  to  speak  his  mind 
to  them.  He  was  an  old  school-mate  of  Richard's, 
a  shrewd,  capable,  yet  unfortunate  fellow  who 

2I5 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

had  been  impeded  by  an  early  family  and  such 
mammoth  responsibilities,  and  he  had  thought 
this  out-of-the-world  appointment  a  very  dispensa- 
tion from  Providence.  He  was  entirely  scrupu- 
lous as  yet ;  but  he  was  very  ambitious,  and  there 
might  come  a  time  when  the  line  between  justice  and 
injustice,  selflessness  and  selfishness  in  commerce, 
would  not  be  such  an  insurmountable  division 
as  now.  Simmons  and  his  wife  were  ambitious 
for  themselves  and  for  their  children  ;  and  am- 
bition is  not  so  rigid  as  honor,  nor  yet  affection, 
nor  yet  a  barbed  wire  fence,  say  what  you  may 
of  it;  yet  is  it  greater.  We  are  close  to  the 
field  of  our  neighbor,  and  there  is  no  division. 
As  we  love  his  fruit  more,  we  love  our  neighbor 
less ;  while  honor,  too,  goes  out  the  back  gate 
from  us,  and  desire  is  alone. 

He  bent  his  keen  eyes  on  Claude  now.  They 
were  winning  eyes  in  the  long  run ;  if  the 
right  opportunities  were  accorded,  the  eyes  of  a 
financier. 

"  Claude,"  he  said,  "  I  am  going  to  start  a  pro- 
hibited subject  with  you." 

"  Well,"  answered  Claude. 

"  I  do  not  like  to  intrude  unnecessarily  or  un- 
kindly," Simmons  commenced  shortly,  "  but  it 
is  not  possible  you  still  believe  in  the  ultimate 
honor  of  Bax  Weffold's  actions  throughout  this 
affair?" 

216 


Simmons  's  Advice 

"  The  principles  of  the  belief  have  been  undis- 
turbed," answered  the  young  employer.  "  The 
atmosphere  alone  is  subject  to  criticism  for  a 
while." 

He  had  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Simmons,  and 
chosen  his  words  slowly,  as  if  they  were  reassur- 
ing himself  as  well. 

"  God  !  "  was  Simmons's  only  answer,  explod- 
ing from  him  like  patience  reaching  an  end  at 
last. 

Claude  felt  embarrassed,  at  a  disadvantage, 
somehow,  for  all  he  felt  the  absolute  sincerity  of 
his  own  words.  Then  Simmons  took  another 
route  swiftly.  He  threw  one  arm  out  flat,  and 
tried  to  talk  indifferently.  He  recognized  that  the 
man  he  addressed  was  a  mere  boy  in  years  beside 
himself,  yet  his  superior  officer;  also  that  Claude 
as  Claude  was  exasperating  to  a  degree;  yet  as 
the  same  unassuming  young  fellow  had  walked 
out  of  his  very  house  months  before,  on  his 
arrival,  that  these  same  Simmonses  might  walk 
in,  it  was  a  difficult  situation. 

Yet,  under  the  weight  of  such  circumstances, 
his  tone  was  kindly. 

"  You  are  being  buncoed  all  through,"  he 
said. 

Claude  bit  his  lips  before  he  answered.  He 
did  not  know  quite  how  to  deal  with  Simmons, 
nor  did  he  like  that  word. 

217 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  believe  so,"  said  the 
great  young  man,  simply. 

He  looked  extremely  boyish  during  his  defence. 

"Reason  —  you  do  not  listen  to  reason," 
the  book-keeper  perverted,  warming  indignantly. 
"  You  come  here  utterly  inexperienced  —  " 

"  Wait,"  cried  Claude,  "  a  minute.  What  does 
experience  count  ?  Experience  !  —  to  be  so  jaun- 
diced by  a  bad  turn  or  so,  that  one  puts  a  micro- 
scope to  one's  own  brother's  motives.  Experience 
is  merely  cynicism  half  the  time,  Simmons,  only 
called  by  a  milder  name." 

The  book-keeper  passed  this  over. 

"I  am  not  wanting  you  to  see  with  my  eyes," 
he  said,  "  any  more  than  I  want  to  see  with 
yours." 

He  paused  here,  to  take  breath  most  likely ; 
but  to  Claude  it  seemed  significant  beyond  a 
measure.  It  seemed  to  mean  Robbie,  so  he 
flushed. 

"Think  several  moments,"  Simmons  urged 
vehemently,  "think,  Claude!  There  is  a  great 
deal  at  issue.  You  are  sent  to  guard  interests  too 
great  to  be  estimated  by  the  ordinary  method, — 
the  figures  of  a  bank  account.  The  yield  here 
has  been  tremendous.  The  monthly  profits  are 
too  vital  a  piece  of  good  luck  to  tamper  with. 
Bax  Weffold  and  his  father  have  been  cheek  by 
jowl  all  year.  His  efforts  in  the  old  man's  in- 

218 


Simmons  s  Advice 

terests  have  been  unswerving.  He  has  made  no 
attempt —  none,  or  we  should  have  heard  of  it,  to 
check  the  wholesale  usury  practised.  All  over 
the  country  there  have  been  immense  cattle  deals 
afloat.  You  —  I  —  every  one  has  heard  of  it. 
You  must  be  blind  no  longer,  my  boy.  The 
man  back  of  every  devil's  scheme  is  your  hero's 
father.  No  one  else  has  capital  enough.  He 
has  starved  out  all  the  little  ranches,  bought 
in  on  several  of  the  great  crippled  companies,  — 
these  are  your  friends,  the  men  you  are  standing 
with  against  your  own  interests  !  " 

He  saw  Claude's  face  had  turned  perfectly 
white,  so  he  followed  up  his  advantage,  politicly. 

"  Hundreds  are  injured  by  Dick's  annihila- 
tion." He  leaned  over,  more  and  more  in 
earnest.  "  Old  Weffold  is  the  only  one  who 
is  not,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Can  you  conceive  a 
selfishness  which  is  greater  ?  " 

"  One  ! "  cried  Claude,  springing  to  his  feet, 
"  if  I  condemn  my  friend  without  a  hearing, 
making  him  a  mere  scapegoat  of  circumstances. 
You  know  what  a  liar  circumstances  is,  Simmons. 
I  am  old  enough  to  have  found  that  out  for 
myself. 

"  There  was  my  own  brother,  a  blot  on  the 
very  face  of  the  earth  —  a  pariah  —  a  by-name 
of  dishonor  in  every  home  in  New  York,  and  all 
through  this,  Simmons,  —  you  know  you  can 

219 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

bear  me  out  —  we  knew  him  merely  as  a  gentle, 
noble,  mistaken  soul." 

The  manhood  which  had  supported  him  clean 
through  departed  as  his  own  trembling  words 
touched  the  very  quivering  nerve  of  that  old 
sorrow.  He  did  not  care  to  let  Simmons  see  his 
face,  so  he  turned  quickly  and  looked  out  of  the 
window. 

Simmons  was  touched  for  the  time,  too. 

Then  he  said : 

"  If  you  keep  up  a  friendly  appearance  with 
these  people  before  the  world,  your  hands  are 
tied  legally,  socially,  in  every  manner.  Sentiment 
is  all  very  well  in  a  measure.  It  will  not  run 
your  brother's  mine ;  it  will  not  put  bread  into 
the  miners'  mouths ;  it  will  not  supply  the  mill 
with  water." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ? "  Claude 
asked. 

"  I  would  establish  my  disapproval  beyond  all 
doubt,"  Simmons  answered.  "  I  would  stop  all 
friendly  communication  with  them ;  I  would 
persecute  old  Weffbld  as  he  has  you  and  yours ; 
I  would  wrench  his  authority  from  him,  or  leave 
his  old  carcass  rotting  on  his  own  damned  soil." 

There  was  a  pause. 

"These  things  are  impossible  for  me  to  do," 
Claude  replied,  after  a  second.  After  another,  he 
left  the  room.  It  was  not  as  if  he  were  running 

220 


Simmons 's  Advice 

away  from  the  decision,  as  there  had  been  a 
finality  of  almost  a  hopeless  nature  to  his  words. 
After  he  left,  Simmons  arose  slowly  and  went 
over  to  the  young  superintendent's  desk.  A 
letter  lay  uncovered  on  it.  It  was  brief,  bright, 
and  yet  tender.  It  said : 

"  I  thank  you,  more  than  mere  words  can  express  for 
me,  for  all  the  pleasure  you  are  constantly  putting  in  our 
way.  It  will  be  so  nice  to  attend  the  Fourth  of  July 
ball  with  you.  It  will  make  me  remember  —  America." 

The  inference  was  droll,  piquant. 

Simmons  threw  his  hands  above  his  head.  He 
almost  screamed  in  his  impotent  rage. 

To  himself,  he  said,  concentrating  a  great 
deal : 

"God!" — again,  "I  suppose  all  the  great 
crises  of  the  world  would  have  been  just  such 
failures,  if  the  actors  had  all  been  in  love  at  the 
time  —  bah!" 


221 


THE   CAUSE   OF   A   FIGHT 

THE  Fourth  of  July  ball  at  Hope  ended 
between  twelve  and  one  of  the  subse- 
quent morning,  because  several  fellows 
who  had  had  too  much  whiskey,  too  little  dancing, 
and   only   one    girl    between    them,   commenced 
shooting   at  each  other.     They  aimed  conscien- 
tiously at  each  other's  heads,  but  missing  these, 
they  were  arrested  and  packed  off  by  the  con- 
stable. 

Later,  Miss  Laurence  and  Mr.  Garnet  were 
walking  down  toward  her  home.  They  quarrelled 
part  of  the  distance,  because  he  had  wanted  to 
drive  her,  and  she  had  cried  out  impatiently : 

"  Don't  always  tack  something  rich  on  to 
yourself.  It  is  like  a  constant  proof  of  your 
identity." 

Claude  said : 

If  there  were  n't  a  hint  in  that  that  she  enjoyed 
—  ahem  !  —  him  more  than  the  proof  of  him, 
why  he  thought  he  ought  to  be  angry. 

Then,  in  a  sweep  of  contrition,  she  moved 
nearer  to  him.  It  was  dark,  unlit,  and  the  road 
one  of  sand. 

222 


The  Cause  of  a  Fight 

At  that  he  said,  as  if  he  had  not  thought  be- 
fore of  it,  that  a  buggy  was  not  a  sign  of 
miserable  richness ;  but  she  would  not  argue  this 
point  at  all.  Her  thin  shoes  hurt  her  feet,  and 
after  a  while,  she  said,  it  made  them  worse,  being 
white!  But  he  merely  laughed,  and  was  above 
the  inevitable  wrangle  this  time. 

At  last  they  saw  the  little  home  lights  burning 
for  her,  and  she  said : 

"  To-day  my  sister  told  me  a  funny  story.  She 
used  to  be  very  beautiful  and  popular  at  home, 
before  she  married.  You  would  never  think  it? 
I  would  n't  myself.  People  talk  yet  of  her 
manner.  Unless  it  is  a  poor  girl  who  has  it,  do 
you  think  any  one  notices  a  manner  very  much  ? 
It  is  like  a  gown  which  is  too  expensive  for  one's 
circumstances.  Well,  then,  every  one  needed  her 
to  fill  out,  as  it  were.  Of  course,  after  my  sister 
married,  there  was  a  stop  to  all  of  that.  She 
simply  became  an  article  of  domestic  furniture, 
like  a  stove.  Men  never  have  stoves  or  wives 
before  they  are  married  —  everything  else.  In 
fact,  she  had  not  been  to  a  ball  for  four  years 
when  they  arrived  here.  Last  year,  of  course, 
there  was  a  ball,  as  usual,  a  masquerade,  on  the 
Fourth  of  July. 

"  You  can't  imagine  what  a  funny  thing  hap- 
pened ?  She  could  not  stand  it.  She  stole  off 
and  went,  never  even  told  Bax  about  it.  Of 

223 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

course  it  would  have  been  immense  fun  if  a  girl 
had  done  it.  But,  after  all  her  trouble,  she  was 
the  sickest  person  of  her  pleasure  — just  think  ! 
Then  they  had  that  other  baby,  and  she  suffered 
every  step  she  danced. 

"  Then  she  went  home  early  —  but  it  is  rather 
sad,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  very  —  poor  Mrs.  Bax." 

"  She  told  how  she  stumbled  back,  half  scream- 
ing (she  was  so  afraid  for  the  baby),  and  how 
Bax  stood,  as  if  he  were  crazed,  by  the  gate,  afraid 
she  had  run  away  from  him.  Of  course  there 
was  a  reconciliation  scene,  but  she  said  he  did  not 
blame  her,  only  was  more  tender,  more  helpful 
afterward,  and  she  said,  for  her  part,  the  old  folly 
died  forever  that  night. 

"  Don't  you  see  any  thing  to  laugh  at  in  it  ?  " 

The  young  face  she  was  peering  at  through  the 
darkness  was  still,  almost  holy  in  its  solemnity. 

"  I  think  it  is  realizing  Heaven  to  love  like 
that,"  he  said. 

She  went  in  half-frightened,  stirred  to  a  throb- 
bing sort  of  response  to  his  voice. 

Bax  was  waiting  up  for  her.  She  felt  grateful 
for  the  kindness  in  it,  just  as  a  little  child  might 
have  for  expected  warmth  and  welcome.  He 
was  sitting  at  a  table  covered  with  writing  and 
magazines,  out  on  the  closed-in  porch.  It  was 

224 


The  Cause  of  a  Fight 

quite  a  large  sort  of  room,  and  was  all  dark  in  a 
sense,  save  just  where  he  was  sitting.  There  the 
candle  threw  a  light  just  around  him,  sombrely. 
Robbie  went  in,  across  to  him,  and,  sitting  on 
the  arm  of  the  chair  he  was  occupying,  put  her 
arm  around  his  neck.  He  pulled  her  head 
down  and  kissed  it.  Then  she  went  over  to 
the  comfortable  little  lounge,  which  was  getting 
so  wofully  shabby  lately,  and  sat  there  staring 
at  him.  She  was  in  the  shadow,  too,  but  he 
grasped  the  outlines  appreciatively,  —  the  now 
rather  slim,  dainty  form,  that  absolute  possession 
which  ennui  sometimes  held  of  the  really  mobile 
little  face,  the  robes  which  clung  so  affectionately 
to  her. 

He  said  :  "  Well,  little  girl,  are  you  glad  to 
be  back  to  the  nest  again  ? " 

She  answered  :  "  Yes  !  "  like  a  little  sigh. 

Bax  kept  staring  at  her  quizzically.     He  said  : 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  parties ;  but  I 
don't  imagine  you  enjoyed  yourself.  I  think 
Rel  has  told  me  it  is  when  the  men  don't  dance 
with  girls  that  they  don't  have  a  good  time  ?  " 

She  cast  him  a  daintily  annihilating  look,  and, 
with  one  desperate  little  motion,  threw  the  deeper 
mood  off  her,  as  if  it  had  been  a  cloak.  She  came, 
smiling,  radiant,  mocking,  out  of  it.  Her  prim 
hair  lent  itself  to  the  madness  ;  a  curl  or  so  fell 
out  of  place.  Her  eyes  were  dazzling. 
15  225 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

She  moved  around  noiselessly  on  the  worn 
old  boards.  She  dipped,  swung,  saluted  imagi- 
nary partners,  as  she  went.  Her  lips  kept  tune 
to  the  wild,  rollicking  little  music. 

Suddenly,  toward  the  end  of  this  performance, 
the  voice  broke  out  —  low,  yet  sure,  glad,  clear, 
like  a  merry  wind-up  : 

"  Ladies,  left  hand  to  your  sonnies! 
Alaman  !  grand  right  and  left ! 
Balance  all  and  swing  your  honeys  ! 
Pick  'em  up  and  feel  their  heft  !  " 

She  swept  a  grand  curtsey  all  at  once. 

He  applauded  softly. 

"  I  take  it  back  !     I  take  it  back,"  he  called. 

"  Oh,  such  a  ball !  "  she  cried,  and  fell  back 
laughing  and  panting.  "  The  American  flag  here. 
The  American  flag  there.  The  American  flag  as 
guest  of  honor !  Thus  the  fact  that  the  walls 
were  not  plastered  —  not  even  painted,  in  truth 
quite  boardy  —  was  hid.  Girls  in  red,  white,  and 
blue ;  some  in  red,  cream,  and  green ;  some  in 
white,  blue,  and  pink ;  the  inevitably  accom- 
plished error.  At  first  bashfulness  of  almost  a 
painful  sort ;  one  never  thought  they  would 
overcome  it.  On  one  side  of  the  floor,  nervous, 
carefully  toiletted  females,  — such  toilettes !  Mine 
was  the  only  one  that  did  not  wrinkle." 

"  Robbie !  "  he  interrupted  reprovingly. 
226 


The  Cause  of  a  Fight 

She  caught  the  gleam  back  of  his  sternness,  and 
gave  him  an  airy  little  toss. 

"  Don't  you  like  me  to  be  honest  ?  " 

"No,  I  like  you  womanly  best  of  all." 

Then  she  said : 

"  Oh,  that  is  it !  You  like  us  to  preserve  our 
individuality  by  not  deviating  from  storytelling  ?  " 

It  was  a  labored,  lofty  little  speech,  and  he 
appeared  quite  crushed  by  it,  so  she  picked  up 
the  light  thread  of  her  narration  again. 

"  The  row  of  chairs  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hall  was  quite  empty.  The  heroes  of  the  occa- 
sion were  all  clinging  to  the  posts  around  the 
door,  as  if  they  were  frightened.  Then  a  few 
baby  buggies  appeared.  That  was  quite  an  in- 
novation. They  were  wheeled  toward  the  edge 
of  the  floor.  Claude  and  I  had  a  quarrel  about 
it.  He  said  the  mothers  could  not  have  gone 
without  the  babies.  I  said,  then  all  should  have 
stayed  at  home.  There  were  also  a  great  many 
little  girls  dancing  who  should  have  still  been  in 
baby  buggies.  Perhaps  it  was  a  maternal  error ; 
perhaps  merely  an  infantile  escape. 

"  And  the  music  !  Did  ever  I  hear  such  music 
before  ?  You  could  have  felt  it,  if  you  had  been 
hidden  in  a  bale  of  cotton  for  years  and  years. 
And  the  darlingest  part  of  all  was  the  way  the 
instruments  and  performers  changed  from  time  to 
time :  now  it  was  a  thin  man  and  an  accordion ; 

227 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

now  a  fat  man  with  great,  swollen  cheeks  and  a 
flute ;  now  merely  the  arms  of  a  man  and  a 
fiddle." 

"  So  every  one  could  dance,  I  suppose  ? " 

She  saw  how  he  was  enjoying  it.  The  dead 
gold  of  his  hair ;  the  keen,  speaking,  scholarly 
eyes ;  the  strong  mouth,  so  flexible  at  times, 
responsive  now  to  her  swift  wit  and  quaint  flow- 
ing humor,  —  all  these  were  swept  up  in  a  little 
glance. 

"  Shall  I  go  to  bed  now  ?  " 

"  No,  tell  me  more,"  Bax  pleaded. 

She  looked  delighted,  matchlessly  so.  The 
repressed  vanity  of  other  times  crept  into  glad,  free 
existence. 

"  The  first  dance  was  almost  a  frost ;  but  soon 
a  man  got  to  calling  out  numbers,  and  every  one 
warmed  up.  They  got  mixed,  —  men,  women, 
babies,  boys,  little  girls.  No  one  was  a  belle; 
rather,  may  be,  every  one  was  one.  No  one  could 
have  danced  more  than  her  neighbor,  because 
every  one's  numbers  were  quite  full.  I  think  a 
stout  girl  attired  a  la  '  Columbia '  made  more 
stir  than  the  rest  of  us ;  but  I  don't  think  it  was 
greater  popularity  —  more  the  enthusiasm  of 
patriotism." 

Here  Bax's  mirth  worked  into  an  unchecked, 
hearty  laugh. 

She  stared  at  him  a  minute.  She  had  not  in- 
228 


The  Cause  of  a  Fight 

tended  that  to  be  funny,  and  thought  his  best 
enjoyment  quite  misplaced. 

"  And  did  n't  I  dance,  though  ?  I  made  my 
feet  quite  sore,  and  such  dignitaries !  Who  was 
there  ?  I  can't  think  of  all  in  a  small  five  min- 
utes. Now  and  again  a  face  appeared  which  was 
quite  familiar.  A  great  many  I  placed  right  at 
once. 

"  It  was  delightful  remembering  who  they  were. 
I  felt  quite  homelike. 

"  And  they  were  so  muddled.  All  Rel's  dear 
women  friends  :  the  little  California  artist ;  that 
fat  Mexican  hidalgo  who  came  searching  for  his 
lost  cow  one  day,  —  tearful,  you  must  remember  ? 
—  because  it  was  the  property  of  his  £poor  Madre, 
senor,  who  was  an  angel  in  heaven  ! '  And  we 
wondered  if  his  poor  Madre's  lamentation  over 
this  rambling  bovine  interfered  with  the  heavenly 
harps  that  day  ?  —  pshaw  !  Bax,  you  could  re- 
member if  you  tried  — 

"  Even  that  antediluvian  old  woman  whom 
Rel  visits  because  her  son  is  no  account.  I  can't 
quite  grasp  the  thought-connective,  I  must  say. 
Then  another  pet  of  your  dear  fraus,  Mr.  Wef- 
fold,  who,  previous  to  this  dissipation,  was  never 
known  to  do  anything  active,  except  smoke,  rock, 
and  have  melancholia;  also  that  pretty  boy  who 
worked  here  last  winter,  who  ate  so  many  onions 
you  could  trace  him  seventeen  miles  or  so. 

229 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  picture  of  it  all ;  but  the  artist 
was  in  no  mood  to  see  one,  or  he  would  not  have 
participated  so  vitally  himself.  In  the  animation 
of  the  hour,  he  forgot  the  civilized  method  so 
completely  that  he  got  to  waltzing  with  Dun- 
man's  little  widow,  and,  when  they  got  around  to 
her  baby  buggy,  rocked  it  for  her,  and  then  went 
on." 

After  both  had  finished  some  prolonged  mer- 
riment over  the  end  of  her  remarks,  she  went 
toward  the  table  and  stood  by  it  with  her  hand 
in  his.  She  felt  very  loving  toward  him,  and 
realized,  with  a  sharp  pang  or  so  about  it,  that 
while  her  little,  foolish,  white  hand  lay  in  his 
strong,  brotherly  clasp,  his  was  horny  here  and 
there,  like  a  laborer's,  and  very  hard.  When  he 
and  Rel  were  married,  there  had  not  been  a  finer- 
looking  fellow  in  all  the  world. 

"  I  am  going  now,  at  last,"  she  said.  "  You 
were  our  good  old  Baxie  to  wait  up." 

She  pulled  away  and  went  off  a-  step  or  so. 
Then  she  came  back,  and  stood  by  the  table, 
leaning  on  it  this  time. 

"I  didn't  enjoy  myself,  Bax,  really.  It  was 
not  that  I  did  n't  have  enough  partners,  only 
some  men  shot  at  each  other.  I  'm  not  used 
to  shooting  yet." 

"  Oh,  so  that  was  it !  I  am  sorry,  girlie.  What 
fools  these  mortals  be,  to  be  sure  !  What  was  it  ? " 

230 


The  Cause  of  a  Fight 

"Well,  it  was  this  way,"  the  girl  returned. 
"One  danced  with  the  other's  girl.  She  wasn't 
a  pretty  girl  either, —  and  a  Mormon  at  that,  I 
think.  But  it  made  the  first  man  very  angry,  so 
they  got  into  words.  Then  they  just  seemed  to 
think  of  things  to  make  each  other  angry.  We 
cleared  back.  No  one  seemed  to  interfere  with 
them.  One  was  a  mine  fellow ;  one  works 
here.  They  cursed  a  great  deal,  too,  on  the  side. 
Then  the  quarrel  seemed  to  leave  the  girl  alto- 
gether— fall  on  to  someone  else.  Some  one  the 
first  man  trusted,  was  a  fool  for  trusting,  was 
a  tenderfoot  for  trusting,  was  a  baby  still  at 
breast  for  trusting  —  lots  of  blankety  blanks  — 
awful  —  bad — words  thrown  in!  The  owner 
of  these  did  not  feel  very  glib-tongued,  I  fancy, 
so  he  whipped  out  his  revolver.  That  was 
the  end." 

She  leaned  over  and  kissed  him  on  the  fore- 
head lightly,  then  picked  up  her  candle,  and 
backed  slowly  off.  At  the  door,  when  she 
paused,  he  asked  : 

"  Was  it  about  my  father,  Robbie  ? " 

"  No,  not  your  —  father,"  the  girl  returned. 

His  face  became  transfigured,  as  if  relieved 
from  a  great  weight. 

"  Poor  fellows,  —  a  woman  !  " 

She  stood  holding  on  to  the  doorknob.  Once 
her  lips  parted,  as  if  to  speak.  Then,  still  clad 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

in  a  spirit  of  hesitation,  she  stepped  out  and  shut 
the  door. 

Bax  went  back  to  his  papers.  She  took  a  long 
time  to  get  still.  When  he  felt  that  she  was  in 
her  nest  in  all  gentle  earnest,  he,  too,  went  to  his 
own  rest. 

Above,  in  her  little  room,  Robbie  moved 
around  without  undressing.  She  went  to  her 
window  once  and  looked  out,  saying,  even  think- 
ing, nothing.  The  light  she  had  on  her  little 
clumsy  country  chiffonnier  sent  a  few  rays  up  the 
road  where  she  was  looking.  Otherwise  the 
country  was  an  immense  blank,  all  dark. 

She  came  back  softly.  She  set  the  candle,  so 
she  could  best  see  herself.  She  liked  it  where 
the  vision  was  faint,  sweet,  imperfect  in  a  color- 
sense,  so  to  speak.  She  just  liked  the  rich 
suggestion  of  some  gay,  enjoyable  phase  of 
life. 

Her  hair  was  crowned  with  a  pretty  ornament 
like  a  diadem  of  pearls.  Her  dress  was  low  and 
white  and  pretty,  neck  and  cloth  almost  one. 
She  had  a  long,  drooping  cloak  lying  light  on  her 
shoulders.  It  was  exquisitely  barbaric,  a  many- 
toned  Persian  silk  from  older  days. 

She  was  satisfied  with  the  vision.  The  look 
she  sent  into  the  eyes  of  her  own  pretty  image 

232 


The  Cause  of  a  Fight 

melted  after  a  second,  it  was  so  direct.  Her 
voice  sounded  distant,  too. 

"  If  you  were  a  very  rich  woman,  like  —  Mrs. 
Garnet,  do  you  know  what  you  would  do  ?  You 
would  come  down  to  Weffbld's  with  a  silly  glass 
raised  to  your  eye  and  say :  l  So  this  is  your 
rural  hero,  this  great  quiet  fellow  with  the  hob- 
nail shoes  and  —  the  Christ-like  eyes.' ' 

She  kept  on  looking.  Presently,  the  image 
seemed  to  reply  to  her,  in  quite  a  spontaneously 
natural  manner: 

"  Poor  old  darling  !  " 

She  liked  her  real  self  too  well  then  to  act  any 
longer,  so  she  commenced  to  unbutton  her 
garments. 

The  last  drowsy  thoughts  before  friendly  sleep 
came  creeping  across  her  pillow,  were  for  Bax, 
too. 

Then,  sleeping,  she  dreamed  of  him.  He  was 
in  a  cathedral  and  in  trouble,  and  she  was  fight- 
ing for  him  desperately.  Following  this,  was  a 
hopeless  disturbing  chaos.  Then  she  was  in  the 
same  cathedral  with  absolute  calm  about  her,  and 
a  conception  of  the  Galilean  looking  down  upon 
her  with  those  deep,  unruffled,  wondering  eyes. 

The  young  son  of  the  Garnets  had  gone  up  the 
road  from  Robbie,  exalted  in  mind  and  soul. 
Dark,  dust,  material  happenings,  dwindled  into 
233 


the  insignificant.  He  planned  noble  uses  of  his 
wealth  ;  he  embraced  the  diviner  truths  of  frater- 
nal encouragement.  He  did  not  know  men 
would  have  smiled  at  him,  and  then  turned 
away  to  wink.  Love  was  enshrined  on  such  a 
throne  that  night,  he  called  it  universal  good, 
and  nearly  prayed. 

If,  in  the  midst  of  his  plans,  he  said  "we" 
now  and  again,  or  "  she,"  or  "  Robbie,"  re- 
member that  he  was  a  millionaire,  the  son  and 
son's  son  of  one. 

And  when  God  had  finished  fashioning  the 
earth,  He  wanted  a  purpose  for  creation,  that  it 
might  search  and  find.  So,  in  the  hearts  of  men 
He  buried  a  treasure,  calling  it  God  or  Truth. 
This  was  to  be  their  labor :  its  reward,  eternal 
happiness.  And  smiling,  He  laid  in  the  bowels 
of  the  earth,  an  efBgy  of  the  All-Powerful,  called 
Gold ;  so  one  was  very  like  the  other,  save  that 
one  was  true. 

Then  He  turned  the  sons  of  the  earth  loose  on 
it,  and  by  that  name  they  lived  on  it,  forgetful 
that  they  were  His  sons  also. 

And  in  time  some  few  found  the  treasure.  And 
these  few,  men  called  fools ;  but  when  any  man 
found  the  effigy  of  it  —  lo  !  there  was  great  feast- 
ing and  praising  !  And  the  minds  of  men  became 
so  muddled  that  they  shouted:  "This  —  this 

234 


The  Cause  of  a  Fight 

only  procures  happiness."  True,  the  few  real 
finders  smiled,  knowing  better,  but  God  could 
only  pity,  aware  how  like  He  had  made  one 
to  the  other. 

So  amongst  our  sins  to  be  first  condoned 
because  of  their  own  great  temptations,  are  the 
little  egotisms  .of  the  rich. 

It  is  we  who  should  pity :  only  God  who  can 
smile. 


235 


IN   THE   NAME    OF   GOD  — AMEN! 

THIS  is  on  a  sermon  in  Arizona;  and 
from  this  fact  we  may  wind  down  to 
many  others ;  but  that  is  the  funniest 
of  all  —  a  sermon  in  Arizona  !  Why  they  have 
told  us  here  God  is  not ;  but  that  is  a  lie,  for 
God  is  close  to  our  hearts  in  great  desolation. 
Surely  no  dream  of  His  wisdom  —  this! 

This  sermon  was  preached  by  a  girl.  Perhaps 
she  should  have  known  better  than  this.  Men 
—  men  who  are  great  and  wise,  just  because  of 
their  very  manhood,  men  should  be  preachers, 
Robbie,  girl,  and  as  their  rhetoric  and  their  virtue 
wax  ever  grander,  listening  women  should  weep 
for  the  frail  souls  within  them  ;  while  here,  at  this 
touching  climax,  here,  the  Devil  can  get  in  his 
laugh. 

And  in  no  cramped,  choking  church  was  this 
sermon.  Under  the  sky,  which  is  so  far  off,  so 
endless,  so  blue,  and  so  eternal,  our  souls  kneel 
within  us,  and  we  must  pray. 

And  on  no  velveted  floor  was  this.  It  was  in  a 
vegetable  field,  rutted  with  great  water  ditches, 
where  the  congregation  sat  on  two  black,  empty 

236 


In  the  Name  of  God —  Amen  ! 

boxes,  and  the  preacher  sat  on  a  mound  above 
them,  saving  only  once,  when  she  stood. 

On  the  field  of  a  heathen  Chinese,  do  you  hear  ? 

The  great  light  of  Christianity  was  not  his, 
and  were  the  light  to  shine  with  great  effulgence, 
lo  !  —  he  was  but  a  mole,  and  toiled  as  it  played 
round  him.  Yet  with  the  very  sweat  of  his  brow, 
poor  Lon,  he  throve,  sowing  great  patches  of 
beets  and  cabbage,  coarse  winter  food,  and  sad, 
sickly  rows  of  crinkly  lettuce,  which  tasted  well  of 
mine-tailings,  so  I  have  heard.  And  these  grew 
around  Robbie,  as  she  preached.  Incense  was 
not  there,  of  course,  but  tall  onion-shoots  took 
the  place  of  this.  They  were  keen  and  tempting 
to  one's  appetite.  After  a  while  thought  of  them 
stole  through  her  words,  or  seemed  to.  (I  quote 
little  Weffold.)  It  is  the  same  thing. 

The  congregation  was  composed  of  three 
members.  I  thought  I  would  refer  to  the 
subject  as  the  reporters  do  at  home  sometimes : 
"  Such  and  such  a  bishop  preached  at  Grace 
Church  on  Sunday  to  a  large  and  fashionable 
audience."  Three  members,  I  say,  not  people; 
in  this  way  I  must  say  of  my  congregation,  as 
Lowell  has  beautifully  said  of  Dante's  exquisite 
language,  it  was  bare  and  perfect. 

My  congregation  was  like  that  description.  It 
ran  the  gamut  of  all  that  could  be  desired, 
critically  or  financially.  There  were  no  poor 

237 


people  present.  One  was  a  millionaire.  A  big 
church  often  does  no  better  than  this.  Two 
did  not  understand  the  sermon,  so  it  was  very 
correct,  very  true,  in  the  altogether.  Of  these, 
one  was  a  toy  elephant,  and  the  other  was  a  little 
child.  He  held  the  elephant  up  to  hear  the 
speaker.  Once  the  idea  occurred  to  him,  that  if 
his  mother  would  sew  buttons  near  the  elephant's 
ears,  it  would  aid  his  sight  on  such  occasions. 

During  Robbie's  sermon  he  thought  of  this, 
in  the  wandering  way  a  little  child's  mind  dips 
bee-like  into  such  mental  honey,  only  a  little 
baby  sip,  and  then  on  forever. 

In  apologizing  for  all  these  things,  I  come  to 
the  text  of  the  sermon.  She  did  not  choose  it 
from  such  a  chapter,  proclaim  it  to  be  such  a 
verse.  In  fact,  she  forgot  that  texts  should 
come  from  the  Bible.  Like  many  another 
amateur  in  the  matter,  sermons  represented 
something  vague  and  necessary  to  her,  like 
an  authorized  Chastening  Evil,  to  which  the 
world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil  within  one  acted 
as  a  resistant  force. 

The  time,  as  you  may  have  inferred,  was  askew 
also.  It  was  not  n  A.  M.  of  a  Sunday,  nor 
7:30  P.  M.  (145  in  summer). 

This  was  two  in  the  afternoon. 

It  was  also  such  a  brief  sermon  that  no  one 
went  to  sleep  through  it. 

238 


In  the  Name  of  God —  Amen  ! 

But  here  heterodoxy  seems  to  have  accom- 
plished its  limit,  so  we  will  say  no  more. 

It  was  the  anniversary  of  her  arrival  at  Hope. 

The  text  was  from  Bryant.  I  think  she  chose 
him  because  he  was  an  American.  She  would 
not  have  chosen  a  European  just  then  for  the 
world,  —  she  was  dealing  so  directly  with  the 
very  fountain-waters  of  honesty.  The  exhorta- 
tion was  for  sincerity.  It  was  her  interpretation. 

She  said  : 

"  I  do  not  care  to  give  the  whole  quotation,  as 
it  is  too  long.  Besides,  I  do  not  remember  it 
all  !  " 

(This  was  flirting  with  the  congregation,  but  a 
very  forgivable  departure,  if  one  stops  to  analyze 
it,  impregnable  dignity  one  minute,  then  the 
whole  virtuous  barricade  demolished  by  one 
sweeping  little  glance  from  two  pretty  eyes.) 

"  So  live,  that  when  thy  summons  comes  to  join 
The  innumerable  caravan  .  .  . 
Thou  go  not,  like  the  quarry-slave  at  night, 
Scourged  to  his  dungeon,  but  sustained  and  soothed 
By  an  unfaltering  trust,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  that  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams." 

"  I  do  not  believe  entirely  in  heaven,"  the 
preacher  commenced.  "  It  is  beyond  the  line, 
and  we  cannot  grasp  it;  so  children  should  be 

.239 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

taught  to  aim  solely  for  the  satisfaction  of  a  good 
life.  Then,  before  death,  if  only  for  a  day,  a 
moment,  a  flash  at  the  parting  of  soul  and  body, 
we  know  the  endeavor  has  been  worth  while. 

"  I  have  seen  many  unsuccessful  lives  —  many, 
many,  which  were  so  half-lived  that,  at  the  approach 
of  dissolution,  there  went  a  prayer  to  the  Decree 
Inexorable  ( that  such  and  such  a  moment  might 
be  lived  again.' ' 

God  had  not  willed  the  law  so.  She  thought 
the  secret  of  all  true  living  lay  in  simplicity  ;  that 
the  most  successful  woman  she  had  ever  known 
was  one  who  had  not  realized  that  she  should  show 
any  difference  between  her  treatment  of  Queen 
Victoria  and  a  washer-woman. 

It  was  told  that  to  have  no  enemy,  a  person 
must  have  bowed  as  low  to  fools  and  knaves  as 
to  the  honest  dignity  of  genius  and  virtue.  But 
Mr.  Sheridan  had  erred  in  this.  She  knew 
differently.  For  this  humble  person  whom  peo- 
ple called  old-fashioned,  till  she  was  dead,  had 
bowed  as  low  to  fools  and  knaves,  as  she  had  to 
the  honest  dignity  of  genius,  but  in  Christ's  name. 
Christ's  name !  It  was  very  funny  to  speak  of 
Christ  and  society  in  one  breath.  To  see  a 
woman  kind  to  all  suffering  creatures,  because  she 
was  of  such  simple  faith  that  she  did  not  know 
that  the  Litany,  etc.,  were  merely  the  properly 
toned  ceremonies  of  a  gorgeous  church. 

240 


In  the  Name  of  God —  Amen  / 

A  life  such  as  this,  Robbie  said,  was  a  demon- 
stration not  of  those  great  Shakespearian  tides  in 
the  lives  of  a  few  men,  but  of  the  simple  gracious 
dignity  of  Mr.  Bryant's,  which  was  attainable  by 
all. 

The  moral  was  the  eternal  principle  of  truth. 
From  simplicity,  from  sincerity  of  motive,  could 
come  no  errors  damning  to  eternal  peace.  Thus, 
if  temptation  were  to  come,  the  chain  of  past 
things  would  not  allow  it.  It  would  be  a  dose 
of  poison  so  foreign  as  to  be  cast  out  before  the 
healthy  soul  absorbed  it. 

Then,  in  simple,  unrhetorical  contrast,  she 
introduced  Carl  Weffold's  hate.  Its  evil  breath 
made  heavy  the  very  air  as  she  talked. 

She  spoke  understandingly,  intuitively  of  its 
birth,  —  a  little  jealousy  of  the  soul,  a  weed 
nourished  by  life's  entire  waters,  until  the  good, 
the  endeavor,  the  better  mastery  of  evil,  were 
drawn  into  the  complex  toils. 

It  was  the  first  deviation  from  the  fountain 
principles,  she  said ;  the  checked  intention,  the 
unacted  impulse,  the  still-born  thought,  the  uncor- 
rected  wrong,  —  these  were  the  great  telling 
things.  Our  lives  went  on  after,  it  is  true,  but 
the  weed  was  there,  and  possibilities,  beyond  all 
control,  were  given  ground  to  grow  in. 

16  241 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

This  seemed  the  middle  of  the  sermon,  and 
she  should  have  gone  on  just  so,  unnecessarily 
telling  about  her  simple  woman  and  her  complex 
man,  until  the  listeners  lost  the  force  of  her  moral. 
But  she  stopped  short  just  at  this  juncture.  The 
onions  permeated  the  air,  as  if  they  were  a  little 
song  with  which  the  earth  was  flouting  our  dainty 
manners.  The  congregation  waited. 

"  That  is  all,"  the  preacher  said.  She  was 
tired.  She  did  not  know  yet  about  preachers, 
that  some  were  to  tire  people,  not  to  tire  them- 
selves. 

The  effect  on  her  listeners  was  immediate ; 
would,  would  it  were  always  so  ! 

The  child  stirred  out  of  his  long  calm  with  a 
little  half  sigh  which  was  very  patient.  He 
mumbled  something  gently,  —  still  dreamily, — 
little  words,  such  as  little  children  utter,  which  fly 
here  and  there  like  down  : 

"  The  elfer  no  can  tell,"  he  was  saying.  "  The 
elfer  no  can  tell  what  a'  mean." 

The  millionaire  rose  to  his  feet.  The  passion 
of  reformation  was  on  him.  His  voice  struck 
the  very  rocks  of  confession. 

"  Prove  your  words,"  he  urged  to  the  girl 
before  him.  "  Make  sincerity  an  humble,  daily 
practice.  Be  my  wife." 


242 


ONE   NIGHT 

CLAUDE  observed  the  outer  darkness 
almost  lovingly.  It  was  one  with  which 
he  had  grown  familiar  ;  when  the  sky 
far  overhead  is  so  studded,  it  makes  all  a  great 
uncivilized  land  dark  by  very  contrast.  The 
distance  between  earth  and  sky  had  increased  to 
him  also.  Here  there  were  no  crude  efforts  — 
magnificent  as  men  may  judge  them  —  to  reach 
more  than  one  or  two  simple  adobe  stories. 

He  sat  now  in  his  room  in  the  great  silent  mill 
of  which  he  and  his  brothers  were  largely  master. 
He  was  not  in  communication  with  any  living 
soul,  unless  we  except  Simmons.  Simmons  had 
a  wire  which  entered  this  room  ;  he,  a  wire 
which  reached  Simmons.  If  there  were  to  be 
a  riot,  a  menacing,  unlawful  disturbance  of  what- 
ever nature,  he  would  be  acquainted  with  it  be- 
fore it  had  barely  organized,  at  least  before  it 
occurred.  It  was  the  drinking  men  that  he  was 
afraid  of,  none  of  the  other  ones. 

There  are  many  paths  to  greatness ;  but  this 
young  man  had  chosen  one  quite  unfrequented. 
He  did  not  know  much  about  the  role.  Perhaps, 

243 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

had  a  newspaper  reporter  asked  his  opinion  about 
the  necessary  qualities  to  a  great  man's  greatness, 
he  might  have  been  clever  enough  to  put  his 
simple  creed  into  this  simple  language,  only  I 
doubt  it : 

"  just  in  being  great." 

After  the  closing  down  of  the  great  mill  and 
the  cessation  of  labor  in  the  mine,  Simmons  had 
come  to  him  that  evening  : 

"  I  don't  want  to  break  down  our  contract 
about  tale-bearing,  nagging,  dealing  out  retail 
rumors,"  he  said,  a  really  intolerant  tone  to  his 
voice,  yet  utterly  patient  smile  in  his  eyes,  "  but 
I  think  a  guard  would  not  be  a  bad  idea  at  the 
mill.  It  would  prevent  any  possible  destruction." 

"  Not  probable  ?  "  said  Claude,  looking  up. 

"  I  will  not  go  that  far,"  the  book-keeper 
replied. 

Claude  hesitated. 

"  Would  you  mind  telling  me  what  you  might 
fear  ?  "  he  asked  Simmons.  "  I  have  thought  of 
some  such  folly  myself." 

The  book-keeper  forgot  his  intolerance  of  the 
young  superintendent,  and  caught  at  the  apt  word, 
eagerly. 

"  Folly,  that  is  it,"  he  cried.  "  I  don't  think 
a  man  in  Hope  would  wilfully  harm  one  inch  of 
Dick's  possessions  "  (he  purposely  aimed  the  shaft), 
"  but  there  is  a  theosophical  idea  I  Ve  read  of, 

244 


One  Night 

that  murder-thought  of  any  violent  description 
is  contagious,  like  small-pox  or  the  plague.  At 
least  it  is  to  that  effect.  Old  Weffold  has  never 
been  popular.  That  is  statistical,  so  you  need  n't 
find  fault  with  me  for  mentioning  it.  Lately,  as 
you,  I  —  all  have  seen,  the  unpopularity  has 
grown.  May  be  it  is  only  attacking  universal 
human  error,  rather  than  any  one  individual,  to 
say  it  has  involved  innocent  parties,  instead  of 
keeping  to  its  first  victim.  That  is  like  small- 
pox, too." 

"  I  don't  know  that  we  need  to  go  over  that," 
interjected  Claude,  kindly. 

"  But  it  is  only  one  issue,"  the  book-keeper 
returned.  "  You  are  not  experienced  enough  to 
see  these  things." 

Claude  tried  to  be  oblivious. 

"  What,"  continued  Simmons,  "  what  has 
justly,  or  unjustly,  befallen  Bax  Weffold,  may 
befall  —  us,  too." 

He  often  spoke  of  the  syndicate  that  way.  It 
pleased  him. 

"  As  usual,  there  is  a  good  percentage  of  the 
men  about  who  live  in  saloons,  any  way.  More 
will  be  driven  there  by  idleness,  or  because  they 
fancy  they  need  buoying  during  this  episode. 
In  fact,  concisely  speaking,  there  will  be  lots  of 
drunken  men  around." 

The  young  superintendent  smiled. 
245 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"That  about  says  it  all,"  he  returned,  "with 
apologies  to  both  morality  and  rhetoric." 

"  The  devil  a  bit  you  seem  to  care,"  snapped 
Simmons.  "  This  might  be  blown  sky-high 
any  night." 

Claude  suddenly  became  earnest. 

"  But  I  don't  think  it  will  be,"  he  remarked. 
"Allowing  all  you  say,  that  the  men  would  not 
want  to  harm  Dick,  but  might  do  so ;  that  a 
grudge  can  involve  innocent  parties  ;  that  drunken 
men  don't  know  quite  what  they  want  —  why, 
there  is  another  point  in  our  favor  — " 

Simmons  leaned  forward. 

"  It  is  their  livelihood,  you  know,"  answered 
Claude.  "  As  for  the  watch-guard,  I  am  going 
to  sleep  at  the  mill  myself." 

"  Do  you  think  that  safe  ?  "  asked  Simmons. 

"  I  am  not  thinking  of  it  at  all,"  answered 
Claude.  "  That  phase  is  not  worth  it." 

"  For  all  that,"  said  Simmons,  "  you  have 
helped  antagonize  the  situation,  and  — " 

Claude  stopped  him  authoritatively. 

"  For  that  reason,  I  am  the  proper  choice,"  he 
said.  "  If  any  one  is  to  enjoy  their  drunken 
rowdyism,  why,  I  'm  the  man.  Only,"  he  ended 
hotly,  boyishly,  "  I  should  like  it  known  around, 
that  my  life  is  only  a  circumstance  in  the  result. 
But,  if  harm  is  done  one  piece  of  our  fixings,  one 
inch  of  Dick's  ground,  not  one  man  in  Arizona 

246 


One  Night 

shall  receive  employment  at  our  mine.  It  would 
be  ungrateful.  Dick  has  been  the  best  friend 
they  ever  had,  —  kind,  cosmopolitan,  forgiving. 
We  'd  import  men  quicker  than  a  wink." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Simmons,  as  if  surprised  at  the 
demonstration. 

Then  he  had  gone  home. 

On  this  evening  Claude  thought  over  this  and 
other  things.  He  felt  vexed  at  the  situation.  It 
was  ludicrous  with  tragic  possibilities.  Reared 
as  he  had  been  in  a  lawful  city,  a  life  or  so 
was  more  than  the  incident  should  ask  of  the 
state  of  things.  He  could  not  become  familiar 
with  killing. 

He  yawned  over  his  papers,  the  thoughts 
edging  themselves  in  between  his  lengthy  accounts 
to  the  syndicate  home.  Just  then,  beyond  the 
room  in  which  he  was  working,  some  noise  broke 
the  almost  lifeless  stillness.  He  started  and 
sprang  to  his  feet  quickly.  Almost  before  he 
took  a  step  farther,  he  knew  that  it  was  the  swish 
of  a  woman's  skirt. 

Surprised,  yet  not  wanting  to  be  taken  at  a 
disadvantage,  he  opened  the  door  between  them 
very  much  wider. 

It  was  a  woman.  She  had  evidently  been 
guided  by  his  little  light,  yet  hesitant  about  de- 
claring her  presence.  She  stood  so  in  the  little 

247 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

hall  now.     She  was  smiling  a  sort  of  tremulous 
reassurance.     He  continued  to  peer  at  her. 

He  did  not  realize  that  it  was  Mrs.  Bax,  all  at 
once.  In  this  unusual  feminine  presence,  amongst 
the  great  silent  stamps,  the  idle  and  yet  powerful 
machinery,  he  felt  a  sudden  ecstasy,  half-blind. 
He  thought  it  was  Robbie,  —  the  slim,  graceful 
desolation  in  which  the  unexpected  figure  was 
clothed  for  the  moment ;  the  delicate  indistinct 
woman's  face ;  the  thought  that  they  were  alone, 
and  he  loved  her. 

His  lips  were  already  parted  in  vague,  soothing 
words,  when  she  stepped  a  little  forward.  In  the 
dim  light  which  came  from  his  little  office,  he  saw 
that  it  was  Mrs.  Bax. 

Then  a  foreboding  seized  him. 

"  I  have  come  because  I  could  not  help  it," 
she  said.  The  absolute  loneliness  of  their  situa- 
tion lent  a  certain"  unusual  dignity  to  her  words, 
almost  appealing  in  its  stately  primness.  He  felt 
this  remotely,  the  only  way  in  which  he  could  feel 
any  fact  other  than  that  message  which  her  words 
conveyed.  Yet  the  exquisite  modesty,  uncon- 
scious as  it  was,  brought  infinite  consolation  to 
the  overwhelming  harshness  in  the  case.  "  I 
trust  I  am  not  too  late  for  —  for  any  plan  you 
may  care  to  make.  My  sister  left  to-day  for  the 
East  to  join  her  old  schoolmate's  family,  the 

248 


One  Night 

one  with  whom  she  lived  before.     She  left  unex- 
pectedly, as  you  may  imagine." 

In  the  little  pause  now,  her  face  showed  abso- 
lutely nothing,  yearning  as  she  was  about  it. 
No  more  did  his.  She  held  an  envelope  in  her 
hand.  That  little  scrap  of  white  folded  paper 
seemed  the  most  fateful  thing  in  life  to  Claude, 
for  those  few  moments  ;  it  was  almost  like  a  death 
warrant ;  the  longer  she  held  it,  so  much  longer 
could  he  hope,  idiotic  as  the  chance  was.  Then, 
without  reaching  it  toward  him,  she  said  these 
things  of  it : 

"  Robbie  gave  this  to  me  for  you.  I  was  to 
send  it  to-morrow  morning  — " 

She  changed,  passionately.  The  negative  man- 
ner disappeared,  became  obliterated.  Few  things 
serve  as  comparison  for  it,  only  greatest  of  all 
a  still  church,  may  be,  responding  to  deep  sudden 
notes  from  an  organ. 

"  See  how  dishonorable,  how  unfaithful  a 
steward  I  am  !  It  lay  innocently  after  she  left  on 
our  mantel.  I  never  looked  at  it;  only  all  by 
itself  it  acquired  life,  and  seemed  to  torment  me. 
When  I  kissed  her  and  sent  her  away,  for  my- 
self, I  seemed  in  a  manner  to  lose  her.  But  this 
part  of  Robbie  seemed  not  to  have  left.  And  it 
belonged  to  you  —  almost  like  her  spirit !  I  tried 
to  kill  the  thought  by  dinner,  by  putting  my  little 
boy  to  bed ;  doing  little  hum-drum  duties  after. 

249 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  There  was  some  business  or  other  to  keep 
Bax  from  me,  our  usual  hour.  He  had  accounts 
to  make  out,  I  think." 

Abruptly  she  reached  it  toward  him,  smiling 
tremulously  the  while : 

"  Will  you  take  it  ?  There  are  some  orders 
it  does  no  harm  to  forget." 

"  I  should  like  to  read  it,"  Claude  answered. 
"  When  does  the  train  leave,  did  you  say  ? " 

"I  did  not  say,"  returned  Mrs.  Bax,  yet 
radiantly  delighted  at  his  understanding,  as 
women  never  fail  to  be  over  men,  under  what- 
ever circumstances. 

He  tried  to  smile,  but  failed  in  the  doing. 

She  reached  out  her  hand,  and  over  it  he  said, 
humbly  : 

"  There  are  no  thanks  for  such  acts  as  these." 

"  Oh,  yes  ! "  she  cried,  with  her  variable  face 
quite  alight  now.  "There  are  such  debts  that  we 
seem  to  owe  each  other,  but  which  are  more 
payable  to  the  world.  There  are  many  of  them, 
you  '11  find  out.  It  is  my  pleasure  to  pay  mine 
to  one  like  you,  who  won't  forget  it." 

The  earnestness  dropped  like  a  mask  again. 
She  edged  off  as  though  to  leave  him,  and,  out 
of  the  greater  gloom  she  stood  in,  said : 

"  Mr.  Garnet,  it  is  sometimes  permitted  to  the 
very  young,  such  as  you  and  Robbie,  to  stumble 
across  the  only  secret  in  life  worth  having. 

250 


One  Night 

There  are  no  qualifiers  to  it  like  real,  true, 
or  great ;  it  is  simply  the  only  possible  thing 
of  its  kind.  Generally  we  can't  mistake  it.  It 
is  domestic  happiness."  Her  voice  got  deeper. 
It  seemed  almost  solemn. 

"  Many  things  appear  to  be  satisfactory,  — 
fame,  gold,  vanity,  any  visible  success.  But 
this  thing  which  is  invisible  to  us — just  at  first 
—  is  the  only  truth,  the  only  thing  steadfast,  the 
only  eternal  satisfaction  in  God's  great  world." 

She  was  thinking  of  her  child  and  her  hus- 
band, he  felt,  yet  with  still  deeper  passion,  she 
disabused  him  eloquently : 

"  I  am  thinking  of  my  little  boy  who  died. 
God  cannot  take  him  from  me.  It  is  the  divinity 
all  share  with  him  —  dead,  living,  human,  out- 
cast, divine,  the  breath  once  given." 

Unexpectedly  she  smiled  again.  These  humors 
were  deliciously  human,  exquisitely  profound. 

"  I  think  I  invented  that  idea  ;  I  am  so  proud 
of  it.  At  least  Bax  says  so,  when  he  wants  to 
amuse  himself.  I  am  going  now.  A  man 
would  have  said  this  to  you  lots  better — more 
simply  ;  —  just  —  f  Be  sure  —  then  hold  on,' 
perhaps  —  " 

They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes.  Many 
things  seemed  to  balance,  all  undetermined,  when 
the  look  was  closed. 

"  I  must  see  you  home,"  said  Claude. 
25* 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

She  cried :  "  Nonsense  !  in  my  ain  countree, 
and  after  all  my  candor  ! " 

He  took  her  obediently  to  the  door,  she 
making  some  flippant  little  remarks,  well  like 
Robbie,  on  her  own  bravery  in  having  entered, 
unaided,  such  a  short  time  before.  Parting,  they 
did  not  say  farewell.  She  just  went  off  down 
the  narrow,  unilluminated  path.  From  a  distance 
her  voice  came  to  him  : 

"  The  train  leaves  at  11:40.     It  is  10  now." 

In  the  after  silence,  he  went  in  toward  the 
office,  mechanically.  He  did  not  re-seat  himself, 
but,  standing,  read  Robbie's  letter.  The  in- 
candescent light  was  hung  low,  and  he  had  to 
stoop  a  little.  Now  and  again,  in  a  way  he  had 
in  business,  he  read  a  phrase,  or  even  a  sentence, 
aloud,  so  as  to  grasp  it  better ;  yet  without 
really  knowing  he  did  so. 

Otherwise,  all  was  very  still.  The  letter  com- 
menced : 

"  Claude,  when  you  read  this  letter,  I  will  be  far, 
far  away  where  your  earnest  eyes,  your  helpful  hand, 
your  forgiving  spirit  will  —  one  or  the  other  —  be  un- 
able to  reach  or  influence  my  impulses,  selfish  as  they 
have  ever  been. 

"...  Except,  my  sister  tells  me,  the  one  which 
brought  this  change  into  my  life.  But  I  do  not  care  to 
dwell  too  much  on  that,  lest,  —  I  am  so  superstitious, — 
it  might  affect  my  determination.  We  are  under  a  ro- 

252 


One  Night 

mantle  glamour,  so  I  am  going  back  to  the  old,  vapid  life 
which  I  never  knew  was  vapid,  until  I  chanced  to 
encounter  such  earnestness,  such  truth,  and  purpose  as 
yours,  Rel's,  Bax's,  —  even  this  funny,  big,  uninhabited 
land's. 

u  If  you  think  this  step  is  not  worthy  of  me,  stop 
and  think.  It  is  the  self  you  do  not  know  which  is  real  ! 
—  the  self  which  prefers  superficialities,  ball-rooms, 
parlors,  —  which  only  awakens  to  its  realer  womanhood 
very  occasionally,  with  a  start,  perhaps  when  some 
baby  kisses  me. 

"  Claude,  Claude,  Claude,  I  am  writing  like  a  good 
woman,  like  Rel  now.  I  am  making  you  feel  sorry, 
love  me. 

"  I  don't  deserve  it.  And,  if  you  won't  see  how  things 
are,  my  dear,  why,  take  my  word  for  it.  The  good  is  your 
influence,  which  I  can't  shake  ofF  just  yet ;  the  desires 
leading  me  from  you  are  the  lasting  ones,  I  am  sure. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  have  loved  the  world,  endured 
the  hideous  monotony,  the  boring  unintellectuality  of 
riches,  because  of  their  environment.  It  deadens  one's 
heart,  and  I  felt  it ;  so,  when  Rel's  little  baby  died,  I  got 
to  feeling  human,  and  burdened  myself  with  great  reso- 
lutions, and  came. 

"You  know  the  endless  tug  of  war  since.  Such 
duties  as  are  imposed  by  a  life  like  this  starve  every 
sense  of  luxury  we  have. 

"  Only  a  week  ago  I  was  making  fun  of  the  old  life 
to  you,  of  the  young  people  who  spend  evening  after 
evening  like  little  thoughtless  children  at  play,  laugh- 
ing over  nothing,  and  for  hours  at  a  time ;  flirting,  de- 

253 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

stroying  every  barrier  between  the  occasional  and  the 
continual,  the  rare  personality  and  the  gross  one,  the 
irreverent  and  the  sacred,  love  and  ennui. 

"  Yet  I  am  going  back  to  this.  It  may  not  seem  the 
same  for  a  while,  then  I  will  make  up  my  mind  to  it. 

"  Claude,  had  you  come  in  the  older  days,  had  we  met 
in  a  ball-room,  courted  in  some  stupid,  gewgaw-decked 
parlor,  been  surprised  into  a  tame  sort  of  acknowledg- 
ment and  proposal,  why,  I  should  have  married  you  after 
buying  a  big  trousseau,  and  every  one  would  have  said, 
4  how  lucky  !  ' 

"  But,  Claude,  Claude,  you  have  lured  me  from  my 
old  tradition  under  this  great  deceptive  sky.  It  is  like 
church ;  it  is  not  neutral ;  it  is  so  just,  so  inexorable, 
so  far  away  — 

"  I  cannot  reach  it.  You  can't  turn  a  butterfly  into 
an  ant. 

"  Claude,  if  I  asked  you  to  go  away,  would  you  ?  — 
back  to  the  cities,  to  comfort,  to  conventional  things. 
You  cannot  answer.  I  could  not  for  you  for  a  long, 
long  time.  Then  it  was,  l  No.' 

!  "  And  that  is  my  answer  —  the  word  you  say  your- 
self. If  it  had  been  anything  else,  I  should  not  have 
respected  you,  as  I  do  in  separation  j  for,  to  be  different, 
not  dutiful,  however  tender,  would  not  be  yourself. 

"  If  I  stayed,  I  should  grow  tired  of  the  very  noble- 
ness I  married ;  of  all  the  spiritual  scaffolding  marriage 
with  you  would  create  —  " 

It  grew  miserably  tired  toward  the  end,  like  a 
little  battle  lost  on  the  very  paper,  and  because 

2S4 


One  Night 

the  strength  put  in  the  struggle  was  that  of  a 
child. 

Understanding  her  as  he  did,  all  the  pity  in 
his  nature  went  out  to  the  failure  of  her  own  self- 
conception.  He  felt  the  truth  of  Mrs.  Bax's 
words,  "  Be  sure  —  then  hold  on." 

It  was  a  step  aside ;  the  little  difference  at 
first  between  paths ;  a  difficulty  in  finding  the 
second  opportunity  again ;  the  almost  appalling 
assurance  that  the  vital  crisis  of  his  happiness 
had  arrived. 

He  pulled  out  his  watch  and  looked  at  it.  He 
was  going  to  save  her  from  herself,  from  the 
little,  false,  prim,  conventional  thing  she  must  have 
been  in  Chicago.  Between  the  lines  in  her  letter 
was  a  vague  trailing  something,  like  the  scent  of 
flowers  pressed  between  them,  by  which  he  had 
become  strengthened  to  act. 

Now  only  time  lay  between  him  and  a  reversal 
of  her  decision.  He  felt  his  power  over  Fate, 
yet  with  dim,  superstitious  apologies  to  Fate  in 
the  strong  joy  of  triumph.  There  became  a 
pleasurable  madness  in  the  close  race  he  would 
have  for  her  surrender.  He  went  out  and  groped 
in  the  little  made-up  stable.  When  his  hand 
touched  the  horse's  rope,  he  felt  all  the  delirium 
of  conquest,  before  he  had  even  started. 

So  hope  stands  with  us,  when  we  are  twenty- 
four. 

255 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

The  little  horse,  which  had  been  one  of  Wef- 
fold's,  instinctively  chose  a  circuitous  path  out  of 
town.  He  gave  up  to  her.  Then,  almost  before 
he  knew  it,  they  struck  the  great  team  road  out 
past  the  cemetery  toward  Short's.  As  he  looked 
back  on  the  outskirts  of  the  little  settlement, 
some  lights  went  out,  as  if  by  magic.  They  were 
the  retail  stores  behind  him.  By  this,  he  knew 
that  it  was  ten  o'clock. 

At  first,  he  did  not  doubt  his  ability  to  reach 
her  before  the  train.  Then,  as  ground  became 
heavier  beneath  him,  he  got  a  desperate  idea  of 
the  odds  against  him.  He  was  riding  against  a 
railroad  train. 

The  little  mare  he  rode  was  in  good  condition. 
Whenever  he  got  so  far  as  blaming  her,  he  swept 
the  boyishness  beneath  him,  and  set  his  lips  more 
justly,  and  rode  on  —  may  be  bending  a  little 
lower,  distressedly.  In  New  York  it  would  have 
been  a  magnificent  night.  Here  it  was  like  many 
others,  —  a  dark  which  made  one  forget  the  faults 
of  the  day,  and  love  all  nature  better ;  a  soft, 
reaching  dark,  some  quality  like  a  woman's  voice 
in  it,  capable  of  finding  the  human  heart  and 
causing  it  to  throb  ;  a  joyous  darkness. 

Nothing  violent  occurred.  It  was  merely  a 
pressing  onward,  monotonous  as  a  movement, 
yet  enormous  as  a  risk.  Sometimes  the  land 
was  very  plain,  like  a  park  at  night,  dotted 

256 


One  Night 

here  and  there,  as  it  was,  by  the  sturdy  cacti. 
Now  and  again,  a  cow  loomed  up  or  ran  off. 

The  idea  of  the  greatness  of  his  adver- 
sary increased.  He  felt  weak,  incapable  of 
winning. 

Then  the  necessity  of  his  success  became  tor- 
menting as  the  very  fires  of  hell.  Why  had  he 
pondered,  or  wasted  this  moment?  He  could 
have  gone  without  reading  her  letter,  could  have 
guessed.  He  had  never  felt  so  overpowered,  so 
utterly  forceless  before. 

In  stray,  less  physical,  spells,  he  promised 
noble  things  to  the  world,  if  Robbie  had  not 
already  left.  She  seemed  lost  to  him  by  that 
one  issue.  There  was  the  thought  strong  within 
him  that  once  parted,  they  would  never  be  the 
same  again.  Her  little  fair,  cool,  sweet  self  be- 
came almost  visible  then  ;  the  little,  blase,  worldly 
glimpses  now  and  again  of  that  old  self,  irre- 
sistibly quaint  for  all  they  were  so  disturbing ; 
then  the  long  times  when  she  was  the  most 
natural  creature  human  nature  had  yet  pro- 
duced. 

If  she  left  him,  went  back  to  her  old  ways 
now,  she  would  be  irreclaimable,  he  felt.  In  a 
year  —  two,  if  he  saw  her,  she  would  have  a 
hundred  society  platitudes  when  they  met,  like 
the  women  at  home  with  whom  he  was  more  or 
less  familiar,  Mrs.  Ralph  was  that  sort.  She 
'7  257 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

was  in  an  armor  socially,  so  to  say.  She  never 
moved  without  it.  She  suffered  affliction,  met 
joys,  entered  every  phase  of  human  emotion, 
with  much  the  same  smile  and  tear. 

He  shuddered.  The  woman  he  wanted  to  go 
through  life  with  him  became  far  off  and  sacred. 
He  grew  worshipful,  and  was  not  able  to  think 
the  long,  domestic,  tranquil  happiness  out.  They 
would  grow  —  loving,  old  together.  He  was  to 
save  her  heart  for  a  home,  for  some  goodly, 
noble,  inspiring  service. 

The  other  Robbie  would  marry  a  Possibility 
—  rich,  never  poor  —  but  young  or  old,  he  did 
not  care.  Years  and  years  after,  when  the  old 
things  were  dead  to  her,  she  would  boast  of  hav- 
ing jilted  him.  He  saw  her,  still  cold,  still  prim, 
Tennyson's  evolutionized  woman  : 

"  With  a  little  hoard  of  maxims  preaching  down  a  daughter's 
heart." 

His  throat  choked,  and  he  thought  no  longer. 

One  half  hour  later,  a  tired  horse  made  for 
the  dark  cluster  of  houses  people  have  designated 
as  Short's.  The  rider  was  in  no  condition  to 
hear  or  see.  It  seemed  as  if  a  surging  were  in  his 
ears,  so  great  it  blinded,  too.  The  last  yards 
before  him  were  pierced  in  almost  mortal  fashion 
by  a  locomotive's  shrill  scream. 

Claude  fell  on  to  his  feet  at  the  sound,  before 
258 


One  Night 

the  faithful  beast  even  halted.  He  was  almost 
gasping.  He  did  not  know  which  way  the  train 
was  bent,  what  that  shrill  scream  signalled ;  but, 
when  he  finally  stepped  on  to  the  platform,  he 
saw  that  it  had  already  departed  for  the  East. 


259 


MR.  AND    MRS.    BOSTON   JIM 

AFTER  Mrs.  Jim  had  made  a  pile  of 
money,  cooking  and  serving  "  grub  "  (as 
Boston  still  fondly  called  it)  out  at  some 
unearthly  railroad  station  in  Arizona,  she  went 
home  to  sort  of  "  whoop  it  up "  herself,  in 
frontiers'  language. 

This  was  in  a  little  manufacturing  town  not  a 
thousand  miles  from  Boston.  Of  course,  she  did 
not  go  with  the  unimpeachably  elite;  principally, 
if  I  may  tell  it,  because  she  did  not  feel  quite 
at  home  with  them,  but  amongst  the  dear  old 
class  from  which  Boston  Jim  had  won  her  years 
and  years  before,  when  he  was  a  sort  of  steward 
on  one  of  the  great  Atlantic  ships,  and  she  had 
been  a  little  fresh-faced  hand  at  the  mill. 

"  What  exquis't'  manners  Mr.  Jim  had  in  them 
days,"  the  ladies  even  yet  said  to  her  at  many  an 
afternoon  tea. 

But  this  is  going  apart  from  my  story,  and 
throwing  in  little  extras,  as  it  were. 

For  it  was  only  of  Mrs.  Jim's  story  over  the 
New  England  teacups  that  I  care  to  tell.  She 
always  wore  a  great-flowered  silk,  such  as 

260 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boston  Jim 

people  used  to  wear  in  the  fifties ;  and  I  always 
admired  it  in  her,  as  it  was  conservatism  of  a 
pronounced  sort.  She  had  seen  the  great  city 
ladies  clad  just  so  when  she  was  a  wee  little  girl, 
and  it  had  been  ever  the  epitome  of  all  joy  to 
her,  having  wealth  enough  to  live  up  to  the  taste. 

So  this  is  the  way  that  she  will  finish  ofF  for 
me  ;  as  she  was  indisputable  eye-witness  to  what 
befell  the  little  romance  checked  so  unceremoni- 
ously in  my  last. 

"Yes,"  she  would  commence  on  these  occa- 
sions, "  we  was  allays  able  to  keep  our  heads 
above  water,  Jemmie  and  me,  but  afer  the  kind 
ax  of  the  young  Superintendent  Garnet,  as  you 
may  have  heard  of  him,  why,  luck  went  high. 
Now  Jem  —  " 

After  the  change  in  their  circumstances,  she 
had  felt  Jim  was  not  adequate  enough,  as  it  were, 
to  suit  their  pocket,  so  she  had  commenced  to 
call  this  nervous,  rustling  sharer  of  her  joys 
Jemmie,  even  Jemes,  only  he  had  drawn  the 
line  at  that,  just  as  he  had  at  other  ear-marks  of 
feminine  tyranny. 

"  Y'  kin  call  me  James,  if  you  want,"  he  told 
her,  good-natured  as  a  certain  amount  of  mod- 

'      D 

erate  success  had  made  him,  "but  I  '11  be  blowed, 
Maria,  'f  I  don't  plum  forgit  to  turn  my  head  jes* 
like  other  things  w'  which  I  ain't  familer.  Like 

261 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

when  I  was  a  young  cuss  a-courtin'  you,  m'  dear, 
I  used  to  enjoy  wearing  kid  gloves  of  a  evening. 
Whereas  now,fthaving  founded  out  the  use  of  my 
hands,  Maria,  I  'd  a  rip  'em  wide,  first  go-to- 
meeting,  same  as  a  squaw  would  corsets." 

Then  Mrs.  Boston  Jim  would  half "  holler," 
as  if  she  were  shocked  completely ;  but  she  let 
the  matter  drop  after  a  while. 

What  a  fool  of  a  historian  I  am  after  all ;  for, 
unless  I  get  right  down  to  business,  why,  it's 
hard  to  come  around  to  the  point.  Well,  this 
is  it  in  a  nut-shell. 

Boston  Jim  and  his  proud  lady  were  just  out 
for  anything  "  them  days"  in  the  way  of  an  hon- 
est living.  (We  have  often  gotten  him,  good 
old  fellow,  off  to  the  side,  and  learned  this.) 
So  they  took  a  little  place  which  seemed  open 
to  catch  the  intermittent  travel  between  Hope 
("  every  one  knew  Hope  mine  —  Dick  Garnet  'n 
'cettery  "  )  and  the  outside  world.  "  Landed  in 
Short's,  stayed  there  five  or  so  years  afore  start 
was  a-given  us.  Used  to  cook,  and  serve,  and 
stew "  (which  was  quite  a  figurative  use  of  it) 
themselves. 

"  Stage  came  in  from  Hope  early,  say  five  or 
five-thirty,  to  catch  the  East  Bound,  which  left  at 
eleven-forty,  leaving  party  five  or  some  sich  hours 
to  wait  around.  It  meant  trade  to  us.  Gener- 
ally caught  a  meal  or  so." 

262 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boston  Jim 

Now  the  tellable  part  of  it  "  b'longs "  to 
Mrs.  Jim : 

"  One  day,  about  the  same  time  as  usual,  stage 
drove  into  town.  One  gal  was  in  it  besides  the 
driver,  who  was  a  new  driver." 

The  manufacturing  town  learned  all  these  de- 
tails, and  if  Mrs.  Jim  should  have  chanced  to  be 
telling  it  to  some  new-flowered  silk  lady,  and 
omitted  such  a  detail  as  this,  why,  ten  to  one, 
some  one  who  had  heard  the  story  would  say : 

"And,  Mis'  Shepard,  wasn't  it  a  new  driver, 
or  did  I  misunderstand  you,  them  days  ? " 

And  Mrs.  Jim  would  say,  "  Lor',  yes,  how 
forgitful,"  and  tell  all  about  Shorty,  the  Major's 
ingratitude  to  him,  and  the  run-down  politician 
from  Phcenix  all  over  again. 

"The  gal  who  got  off  the  stage,  Jem  and 
I  recognized  as  a  pretty  little  creature,  who  had 
gone  through  to  the  mining  settlement  some 
months  before.  Afterwards,  we  had  heard  that 
she  was  one  of  the  Weffolds  by  marriage  —  sister 
to  her  as  had  married  young  Bax  WefFold,  old 
Carl's  son. 

"  She  was  a  funny,  clean  sort  of  little  thing,  and 
looked  as  if  she  had  been  crying.  She  seemed 
homesick-looking,  and  came  up  to  me  and  said: 

" c  May  I  go  into  the  kitchen  with  you  ? ' 

(All  the  Massachusetts  middle-class  ladies  used 
to  shake  their  heads  over  this,  and  say,  very 

263 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

seriously,  I  assure  you,  "  That  was  queer  at  the 
start.") 

"  But  after  going  into  the  kitchen,  she  just 
huggled  up  to  the  stove  and  said  : 

" c  Will  you  let  me  stay  here  and  keep  warm, 
so  I  won't  think,'  —  for  all  the  day  was  like  sum- 
mer outside  'em  !  Wai,  she  sat  down  quiet-like 
in  a  corner,  and  watched  me  moving  here  and 
there.  And  once  she  wanted  f'r  to  help  me,  but 
I  saw  how  white  and  silly-like  her  hands  were, 
and  was  that  uncomfortable.  And  once,  when  it 
was  getting  a  wee  bit  dark  outside,  and  a  freight 
train  whistled  by  in  the  darkness,  the  young  thing 
rose  from  her  corner,  as  if  she  had  been  shot  out 
of  a  cannon,  then  smiled,  as  if  she  knew  that  she 
had  been  silly,  and  without  another  word  of  warn- 
ing, fainted,  genteel-like,  away." 

This  was  most  interesting,  for  there  is  only 
one  thing  more  than  a  faint  which  ladies  like  to 
hear  about  under  ordinary  circumstances,  —  that 
is,  the  cause. 

"  Boston  and  me  then  had  a  quarrel  over 
a-bringin'  her  to.  Jim,  he  prescribed  a  dipper  of 
water,  and  I,  a  little  whiskey,  which  pleased  the 
young  lady  mightily  afterward ;  as  she  said  that 
she  could  never  endure  water  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, and  so  generously  administered.  It 
made  one  so  uncomfortable  !  " 

After  these  very  sensible,  highly  commendable 
264 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boston  Jim 

opinions,  she  lay  over  on  Mrs.  Boston  Jim's 
bosom,  and  cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

She  told  Mrs.  Jim  that  she  was  very  unhappy 
leaving  her  sister.  (Of  course,  this  was  very 
sad.) 

Well,  before  the  time  for  the  train  to  come, 
she  began  to  act  more  natural.  She  even  pre- 
sented Mrs.  Jim  with  a  breastpin  (brooch,  the 
honest  creature  calls  it)  which  was  displayed 
religiously  to  all  the  town  ladies  also.  Mrs. 
Jim  did  not  want  to  take  it,  and  fought  with 
the  poor  young  lady  for  full  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
about  it  afterwards. 

The  remarks  exchanged  on  this  occasion  were 
these  : 

Mrs.  Jim,  winking  :  "  You  don  't  want  to  give 

away  now  what  some  fine  gentleman  may  Ve  give 

» 
you. 

The  young  girl  said  that  it  really  did  n't 
matter,  as  he  was  n't  The  young  gentleman. 
Indeed,  she  had  four  or  five  brooches  in  her  own 
little  room  in  Chicago  that  she  could  easily  give 
Mrs.  Jim  now  under  the  same  conditions  — 
graduation  folly. 

At  eleven-forty  they  went  out  on  the  platform. 
Her  trunk  was  there.  She  had  a  box  or  so,  and 
a  grip  extra.  She  had  her  ticket  all  bought  also  — 
sleeper-accommodation,  and  all.  She  was  quite 
calm  now  and  very  silent. 

265 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Once  she  said :  "  Is  the  train  on  time  ?  "  and 
some  one  pointed  it  out  to  her,  the  baggage- 
man, no  doubt,  who  was  bustling  about  quite 
near  them,  here  and  there.  It  was  creeping 
along  the  track  far  above  them.  It  was  like  a 
huge,  noiseless,  approaching  monster ! 

Then  it  slid  past  them,  lessening  its  speed, 
until  it  stopped.  She  was  the  only  passenger  to 
board.  The  men  forward  managed  their  own 
affairs  and  her  trunk,  while,  back  where  they 
were,  a  big  smiling  porter  stepped  down  to  assist 
her  in.  He  took  her  hand-luggage  from  her  affa- 
bly ;  then  he  said  :  "  This  way,  missus,  missus  !  " 

Still  the  young  lady  did  not  stir.  An  important 
man  with  a  cap  came  out  and  yelled  out  in  the 
darkness,  then  he  reached  upward  and  pulled  a 
rope. 

A  second  later  Mrs.  Jim  was  standing  alone 
on  the  platform  with  the  girl. 

The  train  had  gone  on  without  her. 

Then  it  was  that  Mr.  Garnet,  the  young  lady's 
husband-who-was-to-be,  appeared.  She  herself 
was  so  wrathy  just  then  at  Boston  Jim,  she  was 
unmindful  of  what  passed  around  her,  so  to  speak. 
Boston  Jim  was  a-walking  before  them  both,  and 
a-swearing,  quiet-like,  to  himself.  Mrs.  Jim  sur- 
mised that  it  was  about  the  young  lady,  and  was 
trying  to  kick  him,  so  she  wouldn't  hear. 

Just  then,  a  shadow  loomed  up  before  them 
266 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boston  Jim 

all.  It  was  young  Mr.  Garnet.  The  girl  gave  a 
start,  like  a  little  silly  girl  as  had  run  away  from 
school  and  been  caught.  Afore  a  word  could  be 
said,  the  young  superintendent  reached  out  and 
took  hold  of  her  — 

Then  she  and  Boston  Jim  walked  on.  When 
she  turned  around  next  second,  "  to  see  as  every- 
thing was  all  right,  the  young  couple  had  stopped 
staring  at  each  other,  and  was  a-kissing,  solemn- 
like,  mind  you,  — afore  the  Whole  Living  World! " 

Mrs.  Jim  never  failed  to  accomplish  this  mag- 
nificent hyperbole  on  Short's. 

About  three  weeks  later  an  architect  or  con- 
tractor fellow  came  a-visiting  them  from  the  mine. 
He  said  he  was  under  orders  from  one  of  the 
brothers  there  to  erect  a  hotel  on  the  most  likely 
site  around.  They  went  in  with  long  faces,  which 
grew  more  and  more  so  as  their  rival  grew  in 
beauty  day  by  day.  It  was  to  be  called  the  "  Bos- 
ton Royal,"  and  no  telling  what  Boston  Jim  would 
have  done  (that  "  riled  "  was  he)  had  not  a  kind, 
gentlemanly,  little  note  arrived  the  same  day, — 
the  name  was  pencilled  in  it,  —  asking  them  to 
run  it  for  him,  rent  and  findings  free ;  a  little 
card  being  tacked  on  to  the  official  communi- 
cation bearing  these  words,  "  same  as  if  't  was  a 
little  silver  spoon  was  presented  "  : 

Compliments, 

MR.  AND  MRS.  CLAUDE  GARNET. 
267 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

The  same  name  figures  in  magazine  articles,  at 
intervals,  under  "  The  Age  of  Romance  not  yet 
over  !  "  "  Millionaire's  Wives  ;  "  "  The  Human 
Life  of  our  Society  Women,"  etc.,  etc.  Mrs. 
Jim  had  her  picture,  in  fact,  and  all  the  tea- 
drinking  ladies  of  that  manufacturing  town  were 
quite  familiar  with  it,  a  sort  of  direct,  kind, 
clean,  little  face,  with  an  humbler  expression 
on  it  than  Chicago  had  been  able  to  produce  ; 
a  rather  stately  little  coiffure,  and  little  square-cut 
neck  to  its  dress. 

Hardly  great,  unless  one  knew. 

In  fact,  a  part  of  the  illustrious  family  Mrs. 
Jim  had  been  known  to  visit  the  last  time  she  was 
in  New  York.  Robbie  and  Claude  had  insisted 
she  call  and  take  dinner  with  them,  but,  by  some 
miscalculation,  the  very  day  Mrs.  Jim  arrived, 
they  were  out  of  town,  so  it  was  Mrs.  Dick  who 
entertained  them.  It  was  the  most  marvellous 
house,  and  she  the  most  marvellous  woman,  who 
seemed  perfectly  at  home  in  it,  yet  perfectly  at 
home  with  them,  and  very  kind  to  every  one 
around  her. 

Then  at  dinner,  Mr.  Dick,  who  had  grown  so 
middle-aged  in  appearance  that  one  never  knew 
whether  it  was  from  happiness  or  from  fat,  set 
about  talking  to  Boston  Jim.  That  was  the  first 
stage  of  conquest.  The  second,  when  he  pro- 
ceeded to  "draw  Mr.  Jim  out,"  as  he  explained 

268 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Boston  Jim 

to    Mrs.    Dick    later,    seeing    she    was    a    trifle 
huffed. 

And  when  Mr.  Jim  felt  right  at  home,  he  told 
Mr.  Dick  the  women-folks  was  too  much  for 
him,  and  he  could  see  Maria  was  a-dying  of 
fright  now,  lest  he  do  something  to  disgrace  her. 
Nothing  seemed  to  have  pleased  Mr.  Dick  so  for 
years.  He  laughed  so  at  it,  and  said  they  must 
shake  hands  on  it,  as  his  wife  was  that  way  with 
him. 

Mrs.  Dick  was  looking  down  at  her  plate  and 
trying  to  ignore  him,  but  presently  her  lips  parted 
in  a  frosty  little  smile. 

But,  when  they  went  on  to  say  they  (neither 
Boston  Jim  nor  Mr.  Dick)  could  ever  quite 
enjoy  the  coat  atmosphere  and  its  absolute  neces- 
sity in  the  metropolis ;  and  Boston  Jim  confided 
about  his  name,  and  Mrs.  Jim's  wanting  to  change 
it,  why,  Mrs.  Dick  got  to  her  feet,  old  Mrs. 
Garnet  and  Mrs.  Jim  following  her,  leaving  the 
two  jolly  men  together  over  their  wine  and  their 
walnuts  ;  just  as  had  been  the  manner,  Mrs.  Jim 
remembered,  of  the  fine  English  ladies  in  the 
novels  of  her  youth. 

And  the  three  women  were  not  a  bit  strange 
alone.  They  talked  about  children  and  Mexican 
embroidery,  and  all  manner  of  interesting  things, 
and  old  Mrs.  Garnet,  mother  of  these  famous  boys, 
told  little  things  about  them,  and  what  a  good 

269 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

baby  Mr.  Claude  had  been,  just  as  the  village 
women  might  have  done. 

Then  later,  when  the  men  did  n't  come,  for- 
getting all  false  things  like  caste,  they  all  tiptoed 
out  together.  The  table  was  quite  empty  now, 
except  for  several  boxes  of  cigars  scattered  here  and 
there  on  it.  Mr.  Dick  was  still  shaking  all  over 
with  laughter,  and  Mr.  Jim  was  looking  rather 
sheepish,  yet  very  proud.  It  looked  very  funny, 
especially  when  Mr.  Dick's  hand  went  up,  as  if 
he  were  afraid  to  go  any  further. 

"You  must  not  say  any  more,"  he  declared,  in 
his  pauses.  "  You  will  strangle  me." 

Then  Mrs.  Jim  seemed  to  fathom  that  Boston 
had  been  telling  about  his  kid  gloves,  and  the 
squaw's  ripping  open  her  corsets  all  over  again. 


270 


ABOUT   A   "CLUB" 

ON  the  same  evening  all  this  had  occurred 
to  Claude,  Simmons  wandered  in  late  to 
the  wife  of  his  bosom.  She  was  mend- 
ing the  trousers  of  their  youngest  boy.  He  was 
rather  flushed  that  night,  was  Simmons,  and 
looked  larger,  heavier  than  ever,  as  if  there  were 
less  animal  energy  to  his  movements.  This  was 
solved  by  a  very  simple  explanation.  He  had 
been  dampening  his  buoyancy,  so  to  speak,  with 
poor  whiskey,  the  kind  country  keepers  make 
immense  profits  on. 

Throughout  the  town  there  was  just  such 
a  tendency  that  August,  when  the  great  mill 
was  so  long  shut  down.  It  was  just  after 
the  beginning  of  the  month  before  this,  that 
Claude  had  acknowledged  he  was  defeated. 
There  was  no  sign  of  water  on  his  place.  The 
men  had  bored  until  it  became  ridiculous  to  do 
so  any  longer.  Then  he  had  called  a  halt  of 
all  proceedings  in  simple,  manly,  terse  terms. 

He  had  gone  into  the  great  power-rooms 
where  they  were  congregated,  and  said : 

271 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  You  have  all  seen  how  the  force  of  un- 
fortunate circumstances  compels  us  to  take  the 
step  we  do  to-day ;  so  I  will  not  explain  it  to 
you.  All  labor  in  the  mine  and  mill  will  be 
suspended  for  a  time. 

"In  turning  you  adrift  this  way,  I  want  to  say 
I  have  tried  to  do  the  best  I  was  able,  by  and  for 
you  all "  —  deep  gruff  murmurs  of  approval 
greeted  this. 

"Yet,  in  looking  back,  I  see  places  where  I 
might  have  acted  even  more  disinterestedly  of 
my  own  thoughts.  So  it  will  not  be  entirely 
wasted  —  such  a  period  of  reflection  as  this." 

There  was  a  blank,  undecided  result  now. 

"  Let  us  trust  the  second  opportunity  will 
come  soon.  I  have  telegraphed  to  my  brother, 
and,  if  he  can  suggest  any  form  of  negotiation  I 
have  not  thought  of,  the  difficulty  will  soon  be 
removed." 

The  earnest  young  voice  stimulated  them  to 
purer  moral  courage  for  the  time.  They  were 
looking  up  at  him,  following,  grasping,  absorbing 
his  thoughts,  as  they  came.  None  felt  very 
hard  toward  any  one  else  just  then.  They 
thought  he  was  n't  such  a  bad  un  for  a  rich 
cove,  while  his  following  words  won  them  into 
loud,  ringing  hurrahs. 

"  There  is  a  month's  pay  awaiting  you  all  in 
the  office.  There  is  only  one  word  more  to  say ; 

272 


About  a  "  Club  " 

the  moment  we  cease  our  relationship  as  man  and 
employer,  I  want  you  to  feel  that  in  any  need 
whatsoever,  I  have  supplied  a  nearer  one  to  you. 
It  is  one  ever  grateful  for  the  faithful  part  you  have 
played  in  our  family  fortunes  —  that  of  friend." 

He  bowed.  His  dark  eyes  fell  here  and  there 
amongst  them  —  kind,  straightforward,  unosten- 
tatious. 

Then  they  all  filed  out. 

Mrs.  Simmons  was  a  tall,  blonde,  lazy  woman 
who  had  been  a  tall,  blonde,  phlegmatic  girl. 
She  did  not  have  many  worries  nor  any  violent 
interruptions  in  her  placid  affections,  but  she  had 
had  one  great  fear  stare  her  in  the  face  once, 
and  she  frittered  a  great  many  days  away  in 
hopeless  anxiety  about  it.  Her  appetite  was 
even  impaired  during  the  period. 

She  so  dreaded  growing  stout. 

Simmons  said  this  was  a  fool  idea,  as  every  one 
grew  stout  after  thirty ;  but,  as  he  did  n't  expect 
any  but  fool  ideas  from  her,  he  did  not  worry 
much  either,  after  all. 

She  set  great  store  by  figure,  so  this  had 
bothered  her  a  great  deal  until  she  came  to  Ari- 
zona, where  she  remained  reduced  and  happy. 
Otherwise,  she  could  not  have  lived  in  the  place. 
She  was  not  a  particularly  brilliant  woman,  but 
she  used  to  dream  quite  imaginative  things  some- 
18  273 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

times.  After  hours  thinking  over  these  things, 
she  used  to  say  to  Simmons,  that  she  would  feel 
like  Heaven  if  she  were  driving  in  a  carriage  up 
Fifth  Avenue  with  the  children,  all  dressed  lovely, 
going  to  take  dinner  at  Mrs.  Dick  Garnet's. 
(Every  one  took  his  or  her  children  when  they 
went  to  dinner  at  Mrs.  Dick's.)  She,  Mrs. 
Simmons,  did  hope  the  children  would  behave, 
and  not  crush  their  clothes  (quite  as  if  they  were 
already  started  !),  and  she  would  wear  a  big  hat  with 
plumes.  It  was  too  bad  poor  Mrs.  Dick  Gar- 
net had  n't  more  social  push,  had  such  poor  taste 
in  spending  money.  She  thought  from  all  Sim- 
mons had  told  her  of  his  visit  to  them,  that  gilt 
furniture  with  rich  velvet  trimmings  was  more 
suitable  to  their  income  than  the  furniture  with 
which  Mrs.  Dick  had  supplied  her  mansion. 

In  fact,  it  occurred  distantly  to  Mrs.  Simmons 
that,  in  time,  since  Mr.  Dick  and  Simmons  had 
gone  to  school  together,  she  would  meet  Mrs. 
Edward  and  Mrs.  Ralph.  This  was  the  dizziest 
height  that  she  ever  attained  in  her  rambles.  It 
was  universally  reported  before  a  gown  was  barely 
out  in  Paris,  that  Mrs.  Edward  had  its  identical 
counterpart  on  her  back.  Mrs.  Simmons  thought 
she  and  these  two  ladies  would  get  on  capitally. 

It  was  a  cosy-enough  little  room  that  Sim- 
mons intruded  upon  that  evening,  —  rather  old- 

274 


About  a  "  Club  " 

fashioned  ;  the  usual,  worn,  country  carpet  ; 
old-style  parlor  chairs ;  centre-table  and  lamp 
on  it,  with  a  few  awry  pictures  about  the  walls. 

They  had  brought  all  the  furniture  with  them 
from  her  mother's  village  home  East.  Simmons 
sank  into  an  immense  grandfather's  chair  near 
her,  and  sat  staring  at  the  work  she  was  doing, 
not  as  if  it  fascinated  him,  but  as  if  it  focussed 
thought  better  for  him  than  anything  else. 

"  There  's  a  damned  fellow  in  town  —  I  can't 
understand,"  he  remarked  after  a  while. 

Mrs.  Simmons  turned  a  corner  of  her  patch, 
while  she  said,  with  quite  a  degree  of  coquetry 
to  it : 

"My  market  is  made,  dear.  You  can't  expect 
me  to  take  the  same  interest  in  fellows  I  did 
once." 

They  often  said  things  like  this  to  each  other, 
Simmons's  star  compliment  being  that  she  must 
stop  claiming  Roland  (their  eldest  son)  soon ;  he 
was  getting  to  look  too  old  for  her  to  mother. 

Simmons  did  not  reply  to  this,  but  stared  at 
the  pants  of  his  offspring. 

"  What  did  he  do,  dear  ?  "  the  wife  asked. 

"  Why,  he  took  a  risk,"  Simmons  snapped  ; 
but  being  a  faithful  wife  to  him,  she  felt  the  snap 
was  not  in  her  direction,  so  she  simply  raised  her 
blonde  eyebrows  inquisitively. 

Simmons  then  got  up  and  walked  all  around 
275 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

the  little  room,  like  a  caged  giant.  His  head 
nearly  touched  the  papered  ceiling. 

"  When  a  person  takes  risks,"  he  said,  putting 
his  thumbs  in  the  sleeves  of  his  vest  and  expand- 
ing, "  there  is  always  a  doubt  aroused  in  one's 
mind  as  to  whether  he  's  a  fool,  or  dead  sure  of 
his  game." 

"  May  be  neither,"  said  Mrs.  Simmons,  as  if 
she  were  arguing  it  attentively. 

"  What  then  ?  "  inquired  her  husband. 

"  Why,  just  talking  to  hear  himself,  to  be  sure, 
as  so  many  men  do,  dear,  as  you  know,"  returned 
his  partner. 

He  said,  "  Pshaw  !  "  and  rumpled  his  great 
head  of  curly  hair  now. 

"  How  is  the  club  getting  on,  dear  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Simmons,  wondering  why  one  knee  had 
worn  through  before  the  other.  Simmons  had 
told  her  the  citizens  of  the  community  had  or- 
ganized a  club  of  defence  of  their  interests,  lately. 
It  kept  him  out,  up  late  and  very  busy.  He  said 
such  a  thing  was  necessary,  and  was  of  the  vigil- 
ance idea  ;  though  the  name  was  rather  extreme, 
as  yet.  Only  every  one  was  getting  very  tired  of 
the  way  the  Weffolds  were  acting,  and  thought 
steps  ought  to  be  taken  in  the  direction  at  once. 

She  said  on  these  occasions,  when  he  told  all 
this  to  her : 

"  Indeed  she  did,  too  ;  and  the  Weffolds  were 
276 


About  a  "  Club  " 

rather  a  strange  family  any  way  one  looked  at 
them,  did  n't  he  think  ?  Mrs.  Weffold  had 
such  unlady-like,  almost  heathen  ideas  on  the 
raising  of  children.  Evidently  her  husband  had 
been  reared  like  that,  too,  —  never  sent  little 
Donald  to  Sunday-school." 

(She  did  n't  know  his  name  was  Johann  Carl.) 

"  Mrs.  Weffold  even  thought  it  quite  clever 
when  her  little  son  described  his  recollection  of 
one  attendance  at  the  Sabbath  juvenile  meeting 
by  £  he  wis*  that  he  never  did  go  to  that  Sunny 
cool  place  —  singer  so  long  and  noisy.' 

"  She  hoped  Simmons  was  glad  his  children  did 
not  behave  like  that,  and  knew  the  difference 
between  a  noise  which  was  so  pleasing  to  God 
and  that  child's  hermit-like  habits." 

(Simmons  had  laughed  in  the  midst  of  her  story, 
when  she  came  to  poor  little  Don's  heathenism, 
so  she  had  supplemented  the  rest.) 

To-night  he  entered  into  no  long-winded  pre- 
amble with  her  very  feminine  view  of  things. 

He  said :  "  When  we  were  in  the  saloon  this 
evening,  everything  was  going  nicely,  when  that 
old  hanger-on  of  a  farm-hand  who  has  been  old 
Weffold's  man  Friday  so  long,  came  in  and  made 
a  mess  of  it  all." 

"  Oh,  how  dreadful !  "  she  cried,  as  if  it  were 
a  nice  bonnet  given  a  wrong  touch  to ;  "  spoiled 
your  nice  meeting ;  and  what  did  you  do,  dear  ?  " 

277 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  Why,  what  could  we  do  ? "  said  Simmons. 
"  There  is  nothing  one  can  do  with  an  old  fool 
like  that,  whining  around  one.  We  had  just  con- 
cluded to  all  start  down  in  a  body  to-morrow, 
—  now,  don't  get  frightened,  my  love,  merely  to 
see  the  matter  through  with  those  rascals,  as  it 
were  —  when  in  trundled  this  old  fellow.  We  did 
not  mind  him  at  all,  like  fools ;  as  since  the  stage 
was  taken  from  him,  why,  it  was  pretty  generally 
known  he  and  old  Weffbld  had  n't  been  on  very 
lover-like  terms.  So  we  had  almost  forgotten  his 
existence,  when  he  up  and  flew  into  a  towering 
rage,  and  called  us  all  c  snakes,'  and  other  un- 
friendly epithets  of  that  nature. 

"  Well,  that  would  n't  have  amounted  to  any- 
thing ;  but  some  fellow  who  had  had  more  than 
was  good  for  him  (in  fact,  Shorty  was  pretty  far 
gone  himself)  called  him  a  coward,  said  he  was 
afraid  to  join  the  crowd.  Well,  we  thought 
there  'd  be  the  devil  to  pay  after  that  little  set-to, 
but  it  was  here  the  old  drunken  fool  made  an  ass 
of  himself.  He  staggered  over  and  laid  his  re- 
volver on  the  bar,  where  every  man  could  see  it, 
and  said,  he  'd  go  to-morrow  with  us,  and,  if  we 
proved  Bax  Weffold  all  we  claimed,  he  'd  put  him 
out  with  one  shot  of  that  same  weapon." 

Mrs.  Simmons  said :  "  Dear  me,  who  would 
think  any  one  could  be  so  ungrateful ! " 

Then  Simmons  saw  all  his  rhetoric  had  been 
278 


About  a  "  Club  " 

wasted,  so  he  stretched  out  and  made  as  if  he  were 
going  to  sleep.  He  was  in  no  condition  to  have 
much  activity  to  his  conscience.  Mrs.  Simmons 
kept  on  patching.  Presently,  without  looking 
up  at  his  huge,  indolent  form,  she  said : 

"  How  did  the  club  happen  to  meet  in  a 
saloon,  dear  ?  Was  n't  there  any  other  place  for 
them  ? "  As  Simmons  did  not  respond,  she 
imagined  he  had  fallen  asleep,  poor  darling !  so 
she  finished  her  last  stitches,  quite  tranquilly. 


279 


THE   DAY 

IT  was  early  morning.      Men   rode  in  from 
here  and   there.     Formerly  they  had  crept 
out  of  houses, — unwashed,  uncouth,  almost 
eternally  impotent,  if  I  may  use  the  term.     That 
is,  weak  without  union. 

Some  had  awakened  eager,  restless,  wondering, 
alert ;  some,  quiet,  compliant  merely ;  others, 
surly,  snappish,  ready  to  treat  their  hearth,  their 
dog,  and  their  women  alike,  with  a  kick  or 
oath. 

It  was  very  funny.  I  wonder  if  all  riots  have 
been  the  same ;  whether  this  husband  and  father, 
sweetheart  and  brother  phase  of  Arizonian  evo- 
lution was  not  unconsciously  imitative.  One 
fellow  jested  with  his  baby.  He  had  married  a 
Mexican,  and  she  had  borne  a  little,  fair,  sweet 
girl  to  him.  It  crept  around  the  kitchen  now. 
In  his  coarse  wooden  chair,  environed  by  mere 
bare  implements  for  the  proper  sustenance  of 
human  life,  this  father,  —  young,  warm-blooded 
yesterday  against  oppression,  eager  in  the  support 
of  justice,  —  I  say,  his  desires,  his  pulses,  his  fine, 
just  senses  all  grew  cold. 

280 


The  Day 

There  seemed  no  joy  in  the  fray  of  the  world, 
yet  he  did  not  say  it  so  finely.  He  simply  sat, 
dull  and  heavy,  and  watched  his  baby.  Then  he 
fed  it  out  of  his  own  dish,  and,  going,  he  did  not 
kiss  it,  but  pushed  back  his  chair  and  went  out, 
not  daring  to  think  for  himself,  yet  fiercely  un- 
satisfied, did  he  know  it,  of  man's  thought  for 
him. 

And  the  throne  on  which  justice  sits  is  of  this 
clay  —  not  stone  at  all,  my  friends. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  they  gathered  — 
never  one  —  first  two  or  three,  so  abruptly  and 
in  such  unaccountable  sympathy  of  motion  as  to 
produce  the  impression  that  they  had  watched 
and  waited  so  as  to  make  no  man  first. 

Onemore — three — two  now  —  five — seven  — 

When  there  were  seventy-five,  all  fell  to  quar- 
relling, because  one  Doe  brought  word  from  a 
Roe  that  the  old  gun-wound  in  his  leg  was  a- 
hurting  and  would  keep  him  home.  It  was  like 
a  girl's  excuse  to  a  party,  and  the  rage  within 
them  was  fanned  to  a  sudden  blaze.  They 
cursed  at  each  other.  And  any  who  had  had 
scruples,  doubts  about  the  real  state  of  their 
feelings,  felt  powerfully  sure  of  their  own  delib- 
eration now. 

The  great  mill  lay  across  from  them,  up  on 
the  side  of  the  hill.  The  young  master  of  it  all, 

281 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  was  safe  for  once.  They 
were  safe  from  his  meddling,  his  infernal  interfer- 
ing with  its  deadly,  persistent  Sunday-schoolness. 
They  meant  no  harm  to  him.  Some  day,  —  to- 
morrow, next  day  or  week,  perhaps,  he  would 
be  Claude  Garnet,  capitalist,  again  their  employer. 
Now  he  was  merely  an  impotent  young  moralist ; 
they  had  Simmons'  word  for  it.  It  had  been 
accomplished  with  such  ease  and  finish  as  only  a 
gentleman  like  him  could  furnish  the  occasion. 

Last  night,  during  Claude  Garnet's  vigil,  Sim- 
mons, who  had  the  mill  key  also,  was  to  have 
turned  the  key  in  the  lock  of  the  room  which  held 
the  young  superintendent.  This  had  been  done. 

You  are  not  to  underestimate  Simmons  in  this 
instance.  What  he  had  done  was  in  the  manner 
of  mischief,  but  in  the  name  of  ambition.  He 
had  risked  one  good  place  in  life  —  every  favor 
with  it  —  for  the  final  outwitting  of  the  Weffblds, 
father  and  son.  He  had  false  notions  of  the 
result  of  this  move.  The  mine  was  to  become 
an  unlimited  power  by  it.  Claude's  indisputa- 
bleness  as  a  millionaire,  his  inefficacy  as  mining 
superintendent ;  they  were  to  be  demonstrated, 
too.  But  his  own  vague,  enormous  profit  by  it, 
that  was  paramount. 

As  this  gathering  of  men  increased  near  the 
north  of  the  town,  a  child  sat  alongside  an  adja- 

282 


The  Day 

cent  cactus.  He  had  deep-brown,  dusty  little 
feet,  half  turned  underneath  him,  ragged  well- 
worn  overalls,  and  a  freckled,  sunburnt  little  face 
from  which  he  could  pull  little  dried  pieces  of 
pure,  thin,  Scotch  skin  without  much  consequent 
inconvenience.  He  did  not  seem  to  be  noticing 
anybody,  but  sat  there,  half  hugging  his  little 
legs,  and  looking  down  at  the  ground  in  a  dully 
negative,  more  than  timid,  way.  Little  children 
who  are  not  great  friends  with  enjoyment  often 
look  like  this.  Yet,  from  time  to  time,  he  gave 
a  furtive,  swift  little  glance  around  him. 

Once,  when  no  one  seemed  to  be  looking,  this 
child  climbed  with  one  swift  motion  to  his  feet, 
and  put  off  toward  the  town  beyond.  He  lost 
his  small  scrap  of  breath  as  he  ran.  A  man 
amongst  the  crowd  happened  to  see  the  drab- 
clad  little  figure  scurrying,  as  if  it  were  frightened, 
so,  all  to  himself,  he  smiled. 

Dirty  skinned,  with  sun-bleached  hair  and 
straight  little  Scotch  gaze,  the  child  ran  on.  The 
houses  were  built  on  the  ground,  off  irregular 
streets,  and  it  was  only  a  part  of  his  run  when  it 
terminated  almost  in  the  arms  of  a  dour  figure 
which  was  ironing  that  early  on  an  improvised 
board. 

Mrs.  Fitzsimmons  laid  down  her  iron,  and  faced 
her  son.  He  stood  stark-still  after  his  entrance. 
It  was  a  sort  of  violent  ending  to  his  run. 

283 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

"  I  think  Mester  Bax  is  to  be  kilt,"  he  said, 
letting  his  mouth  stay  open. 

"  Off  wi'  ye,"  the  mother  returned.  "  What 
mean  ye  ? " 

"  The  men,"  returned  the  little  fellow,  "  every 
man  in  town  near,  even  Shorty,  all  a-standing 
over  by  the  little  graves  of  the  men  wh'  died,  a- 
whooping  it  up." 

With  that  term  a  new  life  came  to  him  : 

"They  are  a-whooping  it  up  now,"  he  said. 
"  After  they  go  a-whooping  it  up,  mither,  why 
they  are  to  kill  Bax  Weffold,  not  old  Maj'r 
Weffold.  Mees  Bax  was  allays  good  to  me, 
mither,  even  when  I  asked  her  every  five  minutes, 
thinking  it  an  hour.  Working  wi'  Mr.  Garnet 
made  me  unnerstan'  that  was  being  a  baby,  like 
HI'  Marj're." 

She  did  not  know  what  it  would  lead  to. 

"  Mither,  is  there  no  one  to  stop  them  ?  Mees 
Bax  we'  gude  to  me  ! " 

She  caught  a  sort  of  quick  breath,  and  her  eyes 
glistened. 

"  There  are  nothing  ye  can  do,  my  son.  God, 
he  have  made  this  quarrel  between  them,  man 
and  men,  and  the  lamb  will  be  asked  as  sacr'fice, 
mark  me,  mark  me ! "  she  returned. 

He  did  not  understand  it. 

"  Can't  nothing  be  did  to  stop  them  ?  Mees 
Bax  we'  gude  to  me,"  he  said. 

284 


The  Day 

"There  is  the  constable  could  be  told,"  said 
the  woman. 

The  little  figure  gave  a  sudden  turn  before  the 
mind  got  active.  There  was  a  gleam  of  great  hope 
in  the  motion,  then  he  was  looking  at  her  hope- 
lessly, the  heart  beating  hard  and  the  mouth  open. 

"  The  constable  no  can  help  us,"  he  cried ;  "  he 
was  wi'  them,  too,  y'  see  !  " 

The  face  had  meant  nothing  to  him  then,  now 
he  suddenly  remembered. 

The  woman  looked  at  her  little  boy.  He  was 
choking  up  bravely,  keeping  down  tears  that 
seemed  like  Marj're's. 

"  There  is  Mr.  Garnet  will  help  'em,"  he  said 
at  last. 

"  Mr.  Garnet  no  is  home,"  she  returned  with 
helpless  following  of  her  child. 

"  But  I  will  find  him,"  said  Robert.  His  little 
voice  broke  in  places,  courageously.  "  An'  he 
will  be  glad,  mither,  and  he  will  take  his  gun  and 
go  down  to  Weffbld  and  kill  the  men  who  are 
hating  Mrs.  Bax." 

"Go  then,  my  boy,"  the  poor  thing  exhorted 
nobly.  He  was  great  blessings  to  her  just  then. 
"  Go  and  find  Mr.  Claude,  and  say  this  to  him : 
f  Mither  says  hurry ',  for  God's  sake  ! '  They 
won't  dare  disobey  Mr.  Claude." 

Then  a  thought  came  to  her. 

She  caught  hold  of  his  arm  as  he  turned,  and 
285 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

faced  him,  so  she  saw  the  freckled,  peeling,  sun- 
burnt little  face. 

"  There  be  Tommy  Knockers  up  at  the 
mine,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper.  It  was  the  only 
thing  in  life  she  was  afraid  of,  these  miner 
ghaists  who  worked  and  knocked  and  whistled, 
and  loaded  one  car  every  evening,  laughing  as  it 
rattled  off  from  their  eerie  fingers.  Since  the 
mine  was  abandoned,  many  stories  had  spread 
about  this,  some  even  saying  the  ghaists  worked 
so  well  that  Mr.  Claude  had  been  able  to  send  a 
load  of  ore  into  the  cars  already. 

Mother  and  son,  both,  were  pale.  They 
looked  at  each  other.  Suddenly  her  grasp  relaxed. 
The  next  moment  she  and  her  fear  were  alone. 
The  child  ran  swiftly.  He  was  not  thinking  of 
anything,  —  end  or  reward  or  manner  —  only  de- 
liverance. He  went  circling  around  some  squatty 
huts.  He  passed  the  great  bed  of  slag,  dry, 
cracked,  hard,  as  it  lay  with  the  water  evaporated 
from  it.  He  reached  the  long  circling  path  to 
the  top  of  the  hill,  indeed  it  was  a  mountain. 
He  ran  up  it,  bending  low,  thinking  of  nothing 
but  the  cookies  Mees  Bax  had  been  so  lavish  in 
giving  him,  covered  with  white  and  then  with 
chocolate  figures.  He  could  not  run  as  he  as- 
cended, but  trotted  like  a  tired  colt.  It  was  really 
a  slower  process  than  walking.  He  seemed  to  slip 
back. 

286 


The  Day 

Then  from  the  crown  of  the  hill,  he  caught 
sight  of  Weffold's.  A  man  and  a  horse  were 
moving  across  it,  small,  like  a  rabbit  on  a  plain. 
He  almost  cried  out,  because  the  last  path  seemed 
so  high  ;  he  was  so  tired  ;  and  that  man  was 
Mester  Bax. 

But  the  little  child  kept  on  manfully.  He  ran 
through  the  great  empty  rooms,  until  he  came  to 
the  safe  room  where  he  'd  often  taken  Mr.  Claude 
his  meals.  It  was  off  his  office.  As  the  child 
approached  it,  he  called  Claude  shrilly  : 

"Mr.  Claude,  Mr.  Garnet,  Mr.  Claude!" 
then,  «  Mr.  Claude  Garnet !  " 

The  door  was  shut,  locked.  When  he  found 
this  out,  he  commenced  pounding  on  it  with  his 
little  fists.  He  became  strong  as  a  hero,  and 
persistent  as  Marj're.  After  utter,  prolonged 
utter  silence,  he  went  off  and  got  a  stick  and 
propped  it  against  the  wall,  and  climbed  and 
slipped  back  and  climbed,  slipping,  until  he 
reached  the  little  ridge  the  transom  opened  on. 
Still  he  was  not  tall  enough ;  so  he  tussled, 
struggling,  panting,  to  draw  himself  up  to  look 
in.  —  The  room  was  empty  !  Poor  little  maniac, 
it  was  the  greatest  shock  of  his  life.  The  desk 
stood  there  just  as  Claude  had  left  it,  even  unto 
the  incandescent  light  which  he  had  left  burning. 
The  books  lay  about,  as  if  they  were  waiting  to 
be  closed.  The  chair  was  half-around,  as  if  he  had 

287 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

just  turned  to  get  out  of  it.     But   there  was   no 
sight  or  sound  of  life. 

Robert  Fitzsimmons  dropped  heavily  to  the 
floor  on  his  feet.  It  was  a  long  way.  They 
were  very  sore,  and  it  hurt  him.  Suddenly,  as  if 
he  could  stand  no  more  unkindness,  he  crouched 
down,  caught  hold  of  each  one  of  them,  and  began 
to  cry,  all  alone  except  for  echo. 

By  seven,  the  men  who  were  to  dispense  justice 
had  drunk  a  great  deal.  The  blood  ran  hot 
through  them.  A  great  thirst  parched  their 
throats,  and  some  thought  it  was  the  drought; 
some,  the  cruelty  of  their  oppression ;  while  the 
more  unconsciously  honest,  simply  wanted  another 
drink.  So  they  bore  on  to  WefFold's. 

The  place  lay  calm  in  the  early  day.  It  was 
almost  golden.  Afar  off  waved  the  Maj'r's 
grain ;  the  green  young  trees  right  around  the 
house  were  bearing  first  fruit,  and  the  great  pond, 
with  its  countless  ducks,  lay  serene  before  the 
coveters, 

A  madness  possessed  them  at  the  simple  sight. 
Yet  a  little  child  became  distinct  from  the  rough 
attempt  at  art-rocks  as  they  approached,  and 
sat  looking  at  them,  with  shaded,  wondering, 
surpassingly  angelic  eyes.  He  was  used  to  great 
herds  of  cattle,  to  detaching  some  little  calf  or 
yearling  from  a  great  multitude  of  others,  purely 

288 


The  Day 

in  his  affections  (if  I  may  so  speak) ;  used  to 
loving  this  one  or  that  one,  and  keeping  it 
fixed,  separate,  well  pondered  over,  in  his  quaint 
little  mind. 

He  detached  Shorty  now.  He  saw  them  all ; 
but  when  he  really  found  Shorty,  impulsively  he 
clapped  his  hands.  And  then  he  sat  with  them 
clasped,  as  the  men  came  on  toward  him. 

He  was  wondering  why  Shorty  did  not  smile 
at  him. 

On  a  little  knoll  by  the  west  side  of  the  dwell- 
ing the  invaders  saw  a  man  standing,  swinging 
an  ax.  As  they  came  nearer,  he  stopped  his 
chopping,  and  walked  forward  a  little.  The  large 
hat  he  usually  wore,  was  off.  By  this,  the  almost 
Apache  stillness  of  head,  with  deep-set,  watching 
eyes,  was  accentuated  more  than  words  can  say. 
It  was  a  silhouette  of  the  hopeless,  dry,  cruel 
Territory  in  person.  His  lips  curved  in  the 
endless  smile  of  the  sky  which  had  refused  water 
to  them. 

Silence  was  for  a  moment  unbroken.  Then 
his  soft,  slow,  soothing  speech  dropped  into 
their  ears  like  poison. 

"  Gentlemen,"  it  said,  "  what  ken  I  do  for 
you?" 

The  man  who  was  to  have  made  the  speech 
could  not  open  his  mouth  to  answer ;  so  dignity 
was  lost  from  that  moment.  An  old  man 
19  289 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

amongst  them  began  to  yell  in  inarticulate  rage, 
as  a  little  child  would  have.  He  dismounted 
and  stepped  forward  a  foot  or  so.  Then  one 
could  recognize  him.  He  was  an  old  enemy  of 
the  Maj'r's,  poor  as  dirt ;  a  vagrant  half,  but 
they  had  fought  in  the  Mexican  war  together. 
They  had  hated  each  other  even  then ;  and  years 
of  avarice  and  affluence  on  the  one  side,  of 
constant  failure  and  disappointment  and  unsatis- 
fied demands  on  the  other,  had  made  the  antago- 
nism tough  as  the  root  of  some  gnarled  old  tree. 

He  raised  his  fist  and  shook  it  in  blind,  mad 
wrath,  without  a  vestige  of  the  dignity  of  age  in 
it,  the  action  detracting  meanwhile  from  a  certain 
stateliness  of  rhetoric. 

"John  Weffbld  !  "  he  shrieked,  anglicizing  the 
name  unnaturally,  "John  Weffold,  I  neither 
fear  ye  nor  love  ye !  Do  your  worst." 

The  old  man  whom  life  had  blessed  with 
riches  controlled  himself  with  a  giant  effort. 
One  could  see  the  old  political  suavity  die  the 
death  as  one  watched  him,  hounded,  bereft, 
unmagnetic  at  last. 

He  squared  his  bent  old  shoulders. 

"  Gentle-men,"  he  commenced,  dwelling  on  the 
parts  of  it,  "will  you  allow  me  to  arm  myself?" 

The  vitality  of  the  grievance  swept  suddenly 
into  these  two  old  men. 

They  stood  glaring  like  couchant  tigers,  bitter 
290 


The  Day 

hate  in  form,  lip,  eye.  Then,  as  they  stood  so, 
face  to  face,  their  quarrel  just  with  cause  at  last, 
in  this  Devil's  land  without  law  or  order,  the 
old  vagrant,  still  watching,  suddenly  raised  his 
gun. 

In  another  second  the  glistening  ax  went  up 
over  its  owner's  shoulder. 

Then,  piercingly,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
from  little  lips  freed  at  last  of  fear  or  shy  eva- 
sion, there  came  one  word  between  foe  and  foe. 

It  was  protective. 

"  Gan-pa !  "  was  all  like  a  wail. 

In  the  start  it  produced  among  them,  the  ax 
was  lowered  shiveringly.  His  old  eyes  changed 
for  one  brief  second. 

Then  he  was  himself  again. 

Before  any  one  well  realized  what  had  occurred, 
a  man  stepped  from  the  house  beyond  them,  and 
stood  negatively  a  few  feet  away.  His  face 
expressed  little  of  all  he  was  doubtless  striving 
to  control.  As  for  the  atmosphere  in  which 
he  stood,  it  was  a  disintegration,  yet  holding 
properties  of  the  absolute  surface  calm  of  his 
dwelling. 

He  did  not  seem  to  see  his  child. 

In  another  instant  he  had  also  mounted  the 
little  incline  upon  which  the  Maj'r  stood. 

He  had  on  the  ordinary  cow-boy  rig,  with 
291 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

modifications.  His  deep-set  eyes  were  more  un- 
fathomable than  ever.  In  his  right  hand,  which 
had  once  been  able  to  lass'  the  toughest  bull  at 
any  round-up,  something  was  clutched — white, 
like  a  little  piece  of  paper.  The  other  hand  was 
empty. 

Yet  as  he  stood  so  (unarmed,  his  environ- 
ment accidentally  pitiable,  a  child  paralyzed 
with  fear  close  beside  him,  and  twenty  feet  off  or 
so,  his  wife),  he  seemed  their  master.  The  con- 
clusion swept  away  from  the  present,  from  the 
unuttered  accusations  on  their  ineloquent  lips, 
from  his  child,  from  that  thin,  frightened  tigress 
of  a  woman  leaning  against  his  humble  door.  It 
went  back  to  when  long  busy  days,  great  silent 
plains,  slumber  under  one  matchless  heaven,  had 
made  them  brothers  of  one  birth  and  blood. 
The  revolution  of  feeling  was  visible,  tremendous, 
vital,  strangling  almost. 

They  loved  him ;  he  had  been  their  friend. 
Those  who  were  not  so,  became  sober  like  half- 
drowned  men  who  were  being  worked  over,  yet 
the  coming-to  was  hard.  Suddenly  one  wanted  to 
cheer  him.  It  commenced  like  a  little  motion 
never  carried,  for  Shorty  had  dismounted  from  his 
horse.  When  he  went  through  the  gate  between 
them,  the  only  instincts  of  home  in  his  life  were  a- 
tuggin'  on  to  his  heart,  he  'd  have  said,  like  little 
cords  as  a  baby  hands  was  a-pullin'.  He  shuffled, 

292 


The  Day 

looked  slouchy,  had  his  hat  pulled  low ;  but 
between  tobacco-stained  lips  mumbled  words 
crowded  sweet,  from  his  very  soul,  with  honey, 
yet  no  one  heard  them  : 

"  My  little  boy,  my  little  Bax'n,"  were  these. 
It  is  a  trick  of  the  memory ;  mothers  do  that 
with  grown  sons  at  times. 

"  Las'  night,"  he  said,  <(  a  Mexican  woman 
died  of  starvation  in  town.  They  said  she  had 
no  food  or  no  water.  A  poor  mis'able  greaser, 
but  died  of  starvation,  an'  a  woman,  Bax.  They 
had  ten  young  uns,  and  her  husband  was  turned 
off  from  the  mill,  when  it  stopped.  They  hed 
no  way  to  look  around  and  no  one  back  on  them. 

"  The  Chinaman  as  worked  in  your  own  fiel', 
my  boy,  he  headed  out  of  town  yesaday,  driv'n- 
like  wi'  the  sand  of  the  storm  —  only  'gasted  coin 
to  his  name,  ten-cent  piece,  as  kid  of  Marpens 
runned  inter  his  mother  fur  — 

"You  and  I,  boy,  have  went  through  this 
country  when  't  war  barrener  than  't  is  now,  but 
there  was  no  one  save  a  calves  t'  pity.  It  is  a- 
mixing  a  women  an  childer  up  with  the  des'lation 
that  counts  like.  Th'  conditions  —  better  con- 
ditions 'n  these  have  ast'd  blood  of  a  civilized 
country,  'r  so  they  tell  me.  The  —  the  men  are 
a-blamin'  you,  my  boy.  Thet  's  it  —  " 

The  man  addressed  did  not  stir  for  a  second. 
When  he  turned,  and  was  not  obscured  at  all  by 

293 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Shorty,  one  could  see  massive,  sweeping  changes, 
as  if  a  lion  had  been  aroused  at  last. 

"  Tell  them,"  he  said  to  his  father. 

"  What  shall  I  tell  them  ?  "  the  old  man  asked. 

"  Tell  them  what  part  I  Ve  played  through  all 
this,"  the  younger  replied.  Every  muscle  in  his 
body  was  a  command ;  his  face  was  death-like  as 
the  bronze  mask  of  some  tomb ;  great  swollen 
cords  were  on  brow,  neck,  and  hands,  like  whips ; 
his  eyes  were  a-glitter.  "  Tell  them,"  he  re- 
peated ;  "  we  are  father  and  son  no  longer,  master 
and  slave  no  longer,  —  man  and  man  at  last." 

He  crept  nearer  unconsciously.  As  he  did,  a 
woman's  scream  rent  the  air  in  protest.  He  cast 
a  swift  look  at  her,  and  learning  something,  stood 
still. 

She  was  afraid  for  him,  but  he  did  not  mind 
her  interference.  She  was  one  of  the  guards  of 
his  eternal  soul. 

In  the  silence,  before  the  Maj'r  answered,  some 
men  drove  off  from  the  crowd  like  mad.  You 
could  hear  the  echo  of  their  riding.  It  was  muf- 
fled in  the  dust  this  instant,  the  next  like  a 
hammer  on  clanging  nails.  They  said  afterward  : 
"  When  it  got  down  to  a  family  quarrel  —  why, 
good-bye."  In  this  country  of  action,  it  was 
more  "  like  hard  work  doing  nothing  "  in  a  crisis 
—  that  was  all. 

Bax  and  his  father  now  seemed  alone.  They 
294 


The  Day 

did  not  see  the  faces  of  old-time  friends,  late  foes, 
acquaintances,  grouped  indiscriminately  together. 
Half  had  dismounted,  and  in  with  the  human 
faces  was,  now  and  again,  the  gaunt,  submissive 
head  of  a  horse. 

"  I  don't  bring  you  to  account  for  the  past,  for 
the  wreck  you  made  of  life  to  a  child.  Let  my 
mother's  name  be  dropped.  She  is  dead  —  as 
dead  to  my  mercy  as  you  have  made  her  to 
yours. 

"  I  came  back  a  year  ago  to  your  roof.  I  was 
dying ;  you  could  not  have  saved  me.  I  am 
dying  now ;  but  you  could  have  been  kinder  to 
me,  more  honorable,  more  just.  You  let  every- 
thing go  before  your  hate  of  me. 

"Yet,  when  you  stood  in  Wilcox  three  months 
ago,  covered  by  the  six-shooter  of  a  man  you  had 
ruined  of  all  his  means,  you  let  me  say, '  I  am  his 
partner ;  settle  with  me,  Dick,'  and  let  me  go 
out  of  a  friend's  presence,  —  a  coward,  lying,  dis- 
honorable, a  trader  on  misfortune,  a  betrayer  of 
trusts !  You  were  willing  to  hide  behind  me, 
despicable  a  son  as  I  was.  I  never  had  a  partner- 
ship with  you.  I  have  worked,  been  patient  for 
the  sake  of  my  wife  and  my  little  son.  I  will  be 
so  no  longer.  To-night  —  I  am  going  to  leave 
Arizona  forever ;  strangers  can  see  to  my  burial, 
other  earth  hold  my  paltry  clay  —  " 

He  gave  a  great  stride  forward,  but  then,  re- 
295 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

membering  that  scream  of  a  woman,  halted  with 
a  crippled  magnificence  of  strength. 

"  But  before  I  go,  there  is  a  debt  between  us 
you  shall  pay  to  the  state,  to  other  sons,  in  my 
memory.  It  shall  be  given  in  the  name  of  my 
child,  who  is  going  with  me.  He  is  a  stranger 
to  you  from  now  on.  What  the  law  would  give 
to  him,  you  can  give  to  the  country  in  our 
name." 

He  staggered,  turned  around,  and  addressed 
the  men  before  him. 

"  I  appeal  to  you  as  my  friends,"  he  said,  "  to 
protect  my  father.  He  will  promise  to  redress 
any  sorrow,  any  suffering,  any  wrong  caused 
through  us.  He  will  substantiate  now  for  you 
all  I  have  promised,  all  I  leave  unsaid." 

The  old  man  stepped  forward,  and  faced  him. 
He  had  a  revolver  in  his  hand.  He  did  not 
raise  it. 

"Liar  —  cur,"  he  cried,  holding  good  control 
of  himself. 

Bax  opened  his  hand.  It  was  cramped,  and 
unfastened  slowly. 

"  I  have  your  word  in  black  and  white,"  he 
said.  "You  dare  not  lie  before  God  and  my 
mother.  I  am  giving  away  my  own." 

A  voice  like  a  snake  hissed  at  him. 

"  You  have  no  own,"  it  said. 

As  Bax  looked  at  him,  the  pistol  rose.  No 
296 


The  Day 

earthly  sound  filled  the  quiet  air.  The  man 
most  likely  to  break  it,  stood  staring  at  the 
mouth  of  the  revolver,  for  his  heart  was  wounded 
mortally  at  last.  He  tried  to  raise  his  hand 
once  in  protest,  but  it  would  not  stir.  It  was 
the  hand  which  held  the  paper. 

Then  he  watched  his  father. 

"  Drop  that,"  yelled  the  Maj'r;  "  you  have  no 
right  to  it,  I  say." 

The  distance  between  them  seemed  to  have 
lessened.  This  accentuated  the  unyielding  fear- 
lessness of  the  son,  the  waiting  malevolent  hate 
of  the  father. 

"You  have  no  right  to  it.  Drop  it,  I  say." 
Then  the  pistol  dropped  for  a  surer  weapon. 
The  old  Maj'r  remembered  nothing,  violating 
the  secrecy  of  a  lifetime. 

"  Bastard  !  "  he  hissed. 

Almost  simultaneously  with  this  climax,  a 
woman  sped  from  the  door  beyond  them.  Bax 
did  not  seem  to  see  her.  So  running,  reeling, 
she  fell  sobbing  at  his  feet.  The  sound  was 
distressing. 

He  felt  her  mute  hands  praying  to  him,  plead- 
ing with  him,  assuring  him  of  her  love  and  the 
child's.  Still  he  said  nothing.  He  saw  the  men 
who  had  known  him  since  he  was  a  little  boy. 
He  saw  the  child,  the  home  he  had  loved,  as 
he  had  religion  and  all  his  thoughts  of  good. 

297 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

The  secret  lay  bare  at  last  to  him.  In  this 
moment,  ancestry  was  no  blur  —  a  release  extra- 
ordinary, a  conscious  wonder. 

Then  all  was  blank,  quite  black. 

Out  of  the  entire  past,  he  retained  one  posses- 
sion. It  could  not  be  wrested  from  him.  It  was 
his  mother.  He  shuddered,  and  the  paper  fell  to 
the  ground.  He  did  not  grudge  it  to  the  old 
man  who  had  been  his  father  this  long.  He 
was  saying  words  as  it  went  back  to  its  owner, 
mumbled  words  which  the  Maj'r  did  not,  could 
not  hear: 

"  So  this  is  your  love  —  your  love." 

Then,  turning,  he  went  to  go  in.  Not  one  of 
the  fifty  men  around  tried  to  delay  him. 

Bax  Weffold  walked  off  slowly.  He  went  like 
a  man  in  a  daze.  If  the  Maj'r  had  fired  his 
threatening  pistol,  there  could  not  have  been  less 
life  to  that  still,  checked  look  on  his  face. 

As  he  walked  from  them,  one  saw  the  great, 
haunted,  noble  form  stooping  between  the  shoul- 
ders. Mockingly,  it  attacked  the  watchers  that 
this  had  been  the  great  point  of  resemblance 
before  between  him  and  his  father.  His  head 
was  bared.  Men  who  had  known  him  since 
he  was  a  little  fellow  could  almost  see  his 
mother  fondling  his  hair. 

He  walked  on  blindly.  Until  a  woman  joined 
298 


The  Day 

him  near  the  entrance,  the  tragic  loneliness  had 
been  impossible  to  comprehend  as  a  part  im- 
pression, it  was  so  absolute ;  then  it  became 
tremendous.  He,  this  woman,  and  a  little  boy 
entered  the  door-way  together. 

When  it  closed  behind  them,  a  sudden  cheer 
swelled  and  went  up  toward  heaven  from  strong, 
yearning  throats. 

Angels  might  have  smiled  at  the  echo  of  great 
joy  in  it;  but  the  legend  says  it  is  God,  the 
Omnipotent,  who  listens.  Thus  when  the  cheer 
reached  heaven,  its  might  had  slipped  into  a 
woman's  sob. 

Then  all  was  over. 


299 


A   LITTLE   STORY 

OUTSIDE,  to  the  men  who  waited,  one 
began  to   speak.     His   eyes  went  from 
one  to  the  other  shiftily.     He  was  sizing 
up  the  situation,  —  the  eternal  principle  of  good 
in  it,  the  possibility  of  a  relapse  into  scepticism 
regarding  Bax  Weffold  again. 

It  was  Shorty. 

He  saw  the  figures  which  the  late  disclosure 
had  left  inert,  awkward,  motionless,  as  if  senti- 
ment had  slid  like  an  angel  amongst  them, 
making  these  rough,  clumsy  fellows  afraid  to 
speak. 

The  sun  had  gained  heat,  and  was  glaring, 
but  no  one  noticed  it.  Among  the  more  re- 
fined of  them,  hats  —  mostly  of  the  sombrero 
order — had  come  off  when  Mrs.  Bax  joined 
her  husband.  The  men  were  holding  these 
awkwardly. 

They  were  in  all  manner  of  grotesque  positions. 
Presently  Shorty's  mouth  opened.  Hard  work 
it  had  been,  my  friends.  As  he  talked,  he  looked 
at  no  one.  This  is  the  reason ;  should  you 
who  read  this  care : 

300 


A  Little  Story 

"  What  has  ben  sed  ter-day,  can't  be  forgotted. 
Pards,  when  I  think  of  thet  woman,  I  remember 
thet,  and  bitter  as  'tis  t'  say  aught  of  her, 
wny>  guess  she  'd  want  me  to  a  defend  Bax.  At 
least,  them  is  my  rec'lections  of  her.  What  we 
say  of  the  dead  harms  no  ones  —  r'member 
that." 

He  was  speaking  of  Mrs.  Carl  Weffold, 
every  one  knew  that,  the  woman  who  had  been 
to  his  life,  dear  reader,  what  your  or  my 
mother  was  to  us. 

Campbell  stepped  forward  : 

"  'Nough  said,  Shorty,  we  kin  guess  the  rest, 
ef  we  want  to.  There  is  none  of  us  cares  to 
intrude  on  a  lady." 

"  Bax  seems  like  t'  be  egging  me  on,"  Shorty 
said,  quite  simply.  He  looked  at  the  door 
through  which  Bax  had  gone,  and  so  told  his 
story. 

"When  I  fust  struck  Weffold  Range,"  he 
said,  "  I  knowed  nothing  wh'tever  of  what  I  am 
goin'  to  tell  yer,  till  one  night,  when  we  drove 
fifty  miles  inter  Tombstone  for  an  after  round-up 
celebration,  I  hearn  what  s'prised  me. 

"  We  boys  was  a-ripping  up  the  town,  and  one 
night,  at  a  music  hall,  we  stumbled  agin  a  chap 
who  was  down  on  cel'bration  also,  been  three 
years  off  S'nora  way,  minin'. 

"He  got  to  telling  me  of  an  incident  as 
301 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

happened  at  his  last  stay  in  the  set'l'ment.  Been 
a  pretty  young  place  then,  and  a  hard  name  to  it, 
when  who  should  enter  the  camp  one  night  but 
a  woman.  Gawd,  one  can  'magine  her,  —  big, 
soft,  sad  eyes  like  Bax  Weffold's,  and  little  feet 
and  hands,  'cause  I've  seed  'em,  and  reg'lar 
Queen  Victor'a  air.  She  was  in  the  forlornest 
scrape  us  damn  men  drive  sich-like  weak  women 
inter ;  for,  may  be  I  did  n't  mention,  she  was  a- 
luggin'  a  child,  —  both  half-starved,  and  she 
proud  as  hell  —  for  all  they  was  no  more  an 
beggars.  She  'd  come  to  sing  in  a  music  hall,  — 
very  one  we  was  in  that  evening.  She  was 
a-supporting  the  child,  she  told  'em,  and  there 
was  no  sort  of  talk  of  a  man. 

"  He  said  she  did  her  part  gamey,  sung, 
got  paid  for  it,  went  home,  nursed  her  kid ; 
but  I  thet  Ve  seen  her  a  wife  after,  cud  stake 
every  damn  fool  hope  I  ever  had  of  a  rich 
find,  pardners,  thet  only  the  kid  kept  her 
a-living,  many  th'  time." 

He  drew  a  deep  breath,  looking  around  on  them. 

"  It  was  thet  woman  as  was  after  Mrs.  Carl 
Weffold,  old  Maj'r's  wife,"  he  said.  "The 
people  got  less  who  knowed  it.  In  a  land  like 
this,  they  come  and  go,  and  forget  things ;  some 
died.  Bax  was  the  baby.  I  never  let  on  or  spoke 
to  a  soul.  I  only  corned  home  and  loved  him, 
poor  little  mite  !  Then  —  he  got  to  love  me  — " 

302 


A  Little  Story 

Shorty  halted. 

Into  every  man's  soul,  filled  with  bitter  hate  of 
the  Maj'r,  came  (for  all  that)  —  so  great  it  nearly 
strangled  —  almost  a  sense  of  what  the  Maj'r  had 
had  to  bear,  —  to  love  such  a  woman,  sweet  as 
Heaven,  sad  as  night,  proud  as  Hell,  —  think  of 
it,  —  her  arm  around  the  neck  of  a  bastard  young 
one,  and  her  barren,  limp  little  hand  in  his,  only 
an  eternal  profile. 

Ah,  God  knows  it  is  hard,  hard  to  judge. 

No  one  guessed  what  he  was  thinking. 

Then  one  sprang  in  his  saddle  passionately ! 
It  made  a  harsh  little  stir  amongst  them.  He 
may  have  been  your  son,  best  friend,  before  the 
country  absorbed  him.  Now  he  was  a  cow-boy. 
Once  Bax  Weffold  had  tried  to  save  his  soul. 
The  horse  rode  away.  As  space  passed,  this  man's 
face  softened ;  all  of  its  rough  negative  outline 
gained  gentler,  tenderfoot  curves  once  again.  He 
was  not  aware  of  it. 

Only  deep  down  in  his  heart  did  he  feel  for 
what  he  was  riding,  riding  to  find  some  sort 
of  woman  who  would  pray  that  Bax  WefFold, 
bastard,  should  not  die,  but  get  well. 


3°3 


THE   SACRIFICIAL   LAMB 

THE  rest  of  our  story  can  be  briefly  told, 
—  much  of  it  merely  repeated. 
It  is  still  related  amongst  the  residents 
of  Hope,  that  on  the  second  morning  after  old  Carl 
Weffold's  great  quarrel  with  his  former  son,  a  man 
stepped  out  of  their  house,  just  at  dawn.  He 
chose  the  back  entrance,  and  saw,  as  he  looked 
around  him,  rough  men  scattered  here  and  there, 
as  if  they  'd  had  a  night's  vigil  of  it.  One  or  two 
young  fellows  lay,  half  sleeping,  under  their  hats 
on  the  ground. 

The  sun  was  yet  very  close  to  the  line  of  the 
earth,  and  shed  warm,  yellow  rays  on  the  sur- 
rounding country,  as  if  some  of  the  golden  glory 
of  Heaven  had  crept  through  it,  and  was  striving 
to  justify,  in  a  measure,  man's  yearning  nobility 
just  then. 

For  the  hearts  of  the  watchers  were  very  sad. 
They  saw  it  was  Shorty,  who  had  no  other  name 
(or  so  men  told  one,  from  time  to  time).  None 
tried  to  guess  his  message,  until  he  stepped  out 
and  closed  the  door  behind  him.  Then  they  felt 
he  had  made  no  noise. 

3°4 


The  Sacrificial  Lamb 

His  weather-marked  face  was  as  usual.  His 
trousers  had  slipped  below  the  waist-measure,  just 
as  of  old ;  but  the  voice  was  full  of  a  high  refine- 
ment. 

"  Bax  Weffbld  is  dead,"  he  said. 

Later,  more  news  came  to  them,  and  was  whis- 
pered muffledly  around.  How,  night  afore  last, 
he  had  seemed  to  rally  after  the  great  bad  spell 
caused  by  the  quarrel ;  how  man  and  woman 
and  child  and  the  elephant  had  gone  through  that 
first  long  watch  alone. 

Then  he  had  sunk  toward  morning.  Noon- 
time he  had  tried  to  say  some  words,  two  of  which 
were  "  sweet  "  and  "  forgiveness."  Then  a  long 
unreachable  stupor  had  come,  through  which 
love,  sound,  sight,  were  all  powerless  to  pene- 
trate. And  so,  they  had  thought,  he  would 
pass  out  forever;  but  the  lingering  soul  willed 
it  otherwise. 

For  just  as  light  entered  radiantly  through 
their  drawn  curtains,  he  had  sprung  forward,  free 
at  last,  shouting: 

"  The  herd  !  the  herd  !  it  is  coming."  Lo  ! 
bend  your  ear  and  hear  it !  the  sweeping,  surg- 
ing roar  again,  but  this  time  his  senses  played  him 
false,  for  it  was  the  great  long-silent  mill  of  the 
Garnets  starting  up  at  last. 

Then  Mrs.  Bax  had  laid  his  body  over  tenderly. 
20  305 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

She  had  no  hard  feelings  after  he  died.  She 
buried  him  by  the  side  of  their  little  Chicky. 
She  carved  the  heathen  little  name  herself,  because 
there  was  no  one  else  so  adequate  to  do  it.  Two 
little  boards  were  all ;  but  when  she  came  to  Bax's, 
she  wondered  vaguely  what  the  rest  should  be. 

No  one  living  had  ever  known. 

She  did  not  know  what  to  do,  just  at  first. 
The  inclination  to  leave  Weffold  involved  a  few 
days'  good-bye  to  Bax's  grave.  She  had  turned 
from  it,  when  he  was  covered  first,  with  a  queer 
little  ringing  in  her  dead  heart,  such  as  takes  hold 
of  even  healthy  ears  at  times. 

It  was  a  philosophy  from  the  fact  of  his  life 
having  ended,  rather  than  its  grief.  What  does 
our  hate  count? 

What  does  our  hate  count  ? 

She  saw  her  sister  after,  her  few  true  friends  ;  but 
there  was  only  one  person  whom  she  really  cared 
to  talk  to,  although  he  was  too  young  to  under- 
stand her. 

It  was  Bax's  child. 

She  then  tried  to  plan  for  him  ;  but  the  futurity 
of  their  life  together  was  something  she  could  not 
even  grasp,  so  she  could  only  give  him  food,  and 
bathe  and  nurse  him  in  a  queer  diverting  sort  of 
manner  that  wrung  Robbie's  heart  as  she  watched 
her. 

She  seemed  in  no  haste  to  leave.  When 
306 


The  Sacrificial  Lamb 

Robbie  hinted  dimly  at  the  cause  for  this,  she 
said : 

"  It  is  an  unuttered  feeling  of  forgiveness,  and 
I  am  weak  enough  to  presume  on  it  all.  I  don't 
want  to  see  him,  but  —  but  I  could  n't  leave  them 
just  yet ! " 

The  supporting  words  sounded  as  if  Bax  had 
said  them  to  her,  so  Robbie  accepted  it  all  finally, 
although  there  was  little  to  do  or  understand 
about  it. 

She  felt,  if  she  had  not  loved  Claude  just  then,  her 
heart  would  have  been  broken.  He  seemed  the 
one  anchor  necessary  for  them  all,  —  the  one  ele- 
ment not  shivered  into  hopeless  little  bits.  She 
looked  to  him  and  time  to  bring  order  out  of  the 
ruin  again. 

Three  days  after  Bax  was  buried,  a  new  quality 
crept  into  the  air.  Men  smiled  and  said 
"  Gawd ! "  as  they  felt  it,  as  we  have  a  habit  of 
saying  down  here. 

It  was  moisture. 

The  sun  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  A  little 
child  sat  out  by  a  duck-pond,  and  watched  all 
this  gravely.  He  did  not  know  what  to  do  with 
himself.  He  missed  his  "  poppie,"  without  know- 
ing the  owner  of  that  adored  little  name  was  dead, 
"gone  from  him  forever,"  as  we  tell  the  very 
young.  Sometimes,  in  the  midst  of  his  solemn 
little  play,  he  said  the  name  over  and  over. 

3°7 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Once  the  whole  love-fraught  little  phrase  escaped 
him  absently : 

"  Me  love  oo  worser  nor  any  sing." 

And  no  one  was  there  to  hear  it. 

Occasionally  he  waved  at  his  mother,  who  stood 
often  in  the  door. 

He  did  not  know  why  the  sun  was  not  shin- 
ing, anything  about  earth  or  sky ;  so  after  a 
little  it  occurred  to  him,  it  would  be  nice  to  find 
the  sun  to-day.  May  be  it  was  hidden  up  in  the 
mountains.  He  and  his  friend,  the  elephant, 
went  trudging  off  sturdily. 

Mrs.  Bax  came  out  after  a  little,  and  when  she 
saw  that  he  was  missing,  let  her  heart  beat  and 
beat  until  it  hurt  her.  Then  she  ran  after  him 
bareheaded ;  but  she  ran  the  wrong  way. 

He  had  taken  the  long  line  on  which  his  pop- 
pie  had  often  ridden  up  toward  home  at  nightfall. 
It  stretched  far  away  to  the  hills.  He  walked  a 
long,  long  time.  He  grew  very  sober,  but  not 
frightened,  as  he  went. 

It  was  merely  being  tired.  When  he  got 
near  the  foot  of  the  hills,  he  drew  up  and  looked 
around  him.  He  did  not  know  which  path  to 
choose.  -  The  hills  lay  black ;  the  ground,  which 
was  usually  just  a  dry,  white,  glaring  formation,  lay 
in  dark  strange  shades.  He  sighed,  and  went  to 
drop  down  just  where  he  stood,  until  he  rested; 

308 


The  Sacrificial  Lamb 

when  he  started,  and  gave  a  shrill,  smothered 
little  scream. 

A  man  was  sitting  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
nearest,  on  a  rock.  He  was  like  the  child.  He 
had  become  very  lonely,  and  had  wandered  off 
here  to  try  and  find  something,  —  only  grown-up 
people  call  it  peace. 

It  was  old  Weffold. 

He  sat  staring  at  the  little  boy.  He  almost 
forgot  that  he  was  not  his  living  grandson,  they 
had  kept  up  the  farce  so  long.  The  child  was 
surprised  to  see  his  grandfather  sitting  in  this 
wonderful  place  ;  but,  with  the  rare  intuition  of 
the  young,  he  realized  a  great  change  had  occurred 
between  them.  He  was  not  so  fearful  as 
formerly. 

The  meeting  was,  in  a  manner,  providential. 
God  had  been  visiting  Carl  Weffold  heavily. 
Wronged,  cruel,  tortured,  blasphemous  chaos 
was  in  his  heart  until  he  saw  Bax's  child  that 
afternoon  on  the  hillside.  Then  there  was  a 
rush  as  of  many  waters,  and  he  was  a  human, 
erring,  conscience-stricken,  sad  old  man,  at  last. 

They  went  off  up  the  steep  path,  side  by  side. 
It  was  a  path  not  new,  but  well  trampled,  and 
gradually  Carl  realized  that  it  was  the  road  to 
Sharpe's  old  claim  way  above  them.  Yet  they 
saw  no  sign  of  it  around.  He  did  not  believe 

3°9 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

in  the  search  for  the  sun,  but  he  wanted  to  take 
the  little  one  back  to  his  mother. 

The  day  grew  darker.  It  was  only  four  o'clock, 
but  as  if  it  were  seven. 

Down  at  the  ranch  behind  them,  Mrs.  Bax 
grew  wild  with  fear.  She  said  she  could  not  find 
her  boy. 

Messages  were  sent  to  the  great  Garnet  mine, 
and  fifty  men  were  sent  out  here  and  there.  They 
went  as  if  their  hearts  were  bursting,  —  the  little 
boy  that  had  once  owned  the  great  sweeping 
country,  and  now  whom  the  great  country  owned, 
"  hed  allus  owned  —  God  bless  'im  ! 

"  Pshaw ! " 

The  day  grew  wet  and  cold.  The  hours  passed, 
and  it  came  to  be  six  o'clock.  Then  stupid,  joyous 
fellows  got  on  the  track,  where  roaming  horses  or 
cows  had  not  lost  it,  and  they  made  off  toward 
the  hill. 

They  found  that  lightly  covered,  abandoned 
claim  of  old  Sharpe's  broken  in  ;  feeble  cries  were 
issuing  from  it. 

It  was  two  o'clock  when  the  child  had  wan- 
dered off  alone.  It  was  seven  past  when  men 
with  sick,  scared  faces  bore  two  burdens  down 
the  hill.  One  tried  to  go  along  first  and  break 
it  to  the  women  folks.  He  stopped  when  he 

310 


The  Sacrificial  Lamb 

tried  to  do  it,  as  if  he  were  in  a  mortal  cramp. 
He   said  : 

"  The  old  man  and  the  little  'un  fell  —  shaft 
of  old  Sharpe's  'bandoned  claim.  It  is  all  right ; 

—  don't  worry.     He    is   only   stunned ;    but  — 
the  — babby  — " 

She  went  out  past  him  to  the  shivering  crowd. 
She  was  white,  her  neck  tense,  her  eyes  alone 
suffering.  She  did  not  scream  when  they  showed 
her  the  little  pale,  perfect  form  and  face. 

God  knew.     It  was  between  them. 

In  her  arms,  through  the  rude  old  gate,  over 
the  path,  she  carried  her  first-born,  until  they 
reached  his  father's  grave.  Then  her  strength 
seemed  spent,  or  her  journey  ended,  for  she 
crouched  down,  and  kissed  him  once  passionately 

—  the  great  waxen  lids  barely  together.     So  he 
had  lain  sleeping  on  her  bosom  many  a  day. 

She  closed  her  eyes,  raising  her  face  to  heaven. 

Then  very  slowly  the  sky  responded,  as  it  were, 
to  her  grief.  Great  merciful  drops  came  down, 
one  by  one ;  on  her,  on  her  child,  on  her  sight- 
less, stricken  face  were  they  falling,  on  the  thirsty 
earth,  on  Bax,  on  their  little,  little  baby. 

At  that  she  started  sobbing.  It  was  raining  at 
last  on  them  all.  The  men  had  turned  away,  in- 
adequate to  console  her;  but  when  the  heavy 
drops  grew  into  a  shower,  Robbie  Laurence 
seemed  to  awaken  passionately. 

3" 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Kind  arms,  pity  beyond  words,  sought  to  en- 
fold Mrs.  Weffold ;  then  a  rough  hand  shot  this 
bolt  of  joy  through  her,  a  coarse  hand  laid  pity- 
ingly on  her  shoulder  and  hoarse  words  ripped 
from  the  big  heart  of  him  : 

"  He  is  living  Mis'  Bax,  he  is  livin' !  " 
Poor  old  heart,  so  perfected!  —  for  she  thought 
it  was  Christ,  and  ceased  weeping,   only  it  was 
Shorty's  voice. 


312 


A   SWORD    LAID    BY 

IN  the  days  he  lay  sick  unto  death,  Carl  Wef- 
fold  saw  a  woman's  figure  moving  here  and 
there,  like  a  shadow.    It  beautified  his  lonely 
room,  and  one  night  he  dreamed  it  was  an  angel 
come  to  absolve  him  from  his  weight  of  sin.     But 
in  the  morning  she  fed  gruel  to  him,  so  he  closed 
his  eyes  and  tried  to  pray  to  some  one  more  lofty. 
"  Heavenly  Father,"  he  sought  to  say,  "  let  this 
woman  look  more  kindly  on  me  !  "  —  the  woman 
who  fed  him  the  gruel;  but  God  understood  it. 
It    was   a   funny   little    prayer,   but    worded,  we 
must  remember,  by  lips  long  unused  to  praying. 
"  Heavenly    Father,"  —  ever   thus,  —  "  let    this 
woman  look  more  kindly  on  me ! " 

The  woman  did  all  she  could.  Her  pale,  calm, 
kind  face,  like  a  mask  of  patience,  was  the  first 
thing  his  eyes  saw  on  waking,  the  last  thing  closed 
to  him  when  he  fell  asleep,  —  such  a  pale,  calm, 
kind  face,  with  no  glad  young  glory  of  emotion. 
Poor  Mrs.  Bax  !  It  was  her  spirit  which  served 
him,  so  she  did  not  become  worn.  She  cooled 
his  broth,  and  cooked  his  gruel,  and  knew  just 

3*3 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

when  the  bright  sun  fell  on  his  face,  for  then  the 
blind  was  lowered.  If  a  pillow  under  his  head 
grew  hot,  she  was  there  to  punch  it,  to  lay  it 
aside  and  put  in  another.  Indeed,  her  hands  often 
touched  him,  but  then  he  scarce  dared  to  breathe. 

Poor  old  Johann  Carl  Weffold !  That  other 
woman  of  his  life  came  back  in  swift,  consuming 
memories,  just  as  Bax's  gentle  spirit  may  have 
come  to  that  other  heart,  and  again  the  woman 
changed  his  pillow ;  but  this  time  her  hand 
trembled  ever  so  little.  And  the  Galilean  may 
have  smiled, — we  do  not  know  Him  of  late  save 
by  pretty  pictures,  but  they  look  so  kind-hearted 
—  must  have  tenderly  and  as  pityingly  smiled,  for 
He  was  putting  His  peace  between  them. 

Now  God  did  not  seem  to  answer  his  prayer;  so, 
with  his  old  independence  of  Heaven,  it  occurred 
to  old  Weffold  to  plead  with  that  calm  gaze  for 
himself.  A  few  words  would  have  done  it,  a  few 
words  buried  deep  with  a  miser's  care  ;  but  the 
old  man  was  very  weak,  and  weakness  makes  of 
us  all  sorry  cowards,  so  he  could  not  speak  to  her, 
but  once,  in  his  sleep,  he  called  out  something, 
and  she  knew. 

It  was  merely  this,  "  I  tried  to  save  him  ; "  she 
half  fell  toward  him,  holding  her  heart. 

"You  did,  you  did!"  she  answered;  but  the 
voice  was  so  full  of  pain  and  pity  he  thought  it  was 
the  angels',  and  never  really  knew. 

3*4 


A  Sword  Laid  By 

She  did  not  know  how  to  break  the  news  to 
him,  and  spent  all  one  morning  seeking  to  invent 
ways  to  tell  him  that  little  Don  was  still  living ; 
but  each  time  the  glorious  words  tried  to  rush 
across  her  lips,  she  remembered  all  the  young 
doctor  had  said  about  news  being  worse  than  a 
million  microbes ;  so  she  just  waited,  in  a  dumb, 
tortured  sort  of  way,  full  of  pity  toward  him,  and 
an  unutterable  longing  for  Bax,  for  his  advice 
and  his  presence,  and  the  way  he  had  of  stooping 
lowly,  and  taking  her  little  feminine  burdens  from 
her.  They  had  never  been  too  little  or  too  fem- 
inine for  Bax. 

At  last  it  approached  November.  It  was  a  cool, 
calm,  pretty  November  day.  There  is  not  much 
verdure  in  Arizona,  but  that  day  the  country 
looked  really  green,  bright,  beautiful,  and  blessed 
of  Heaven.  A  woman,  clad  in  black,  moved 
through  the  lonely  rooms  of  a  house,  as  if  she 
were  bidding  farewell  to  it.  It  was  Weffold's, 
and  the  woman  was  Mrs.  Bax.  She  moved 
around  almost  ceaselessly,  as  if  she  had  a  motive 
for  so  doing. 

After  a  very  little,  she  heard  a  door  close  in 
the  distance,  so  she  picked  some  gloves  up 
mechanically,  and  went  and  stood  by  the  window. 
There  were  some  little  marks  of  the  height  of  a 
child  near  it,  cut  by  a  man's  proud  hand,  or  it 
would  have  been  simply  a  calm,  kind  face  without 

3*5 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

much  history  to  it.  The  marks  lent  expression 
to  the  eyes  that  one  did  not  care  to  intrude  on,  so 
one  looked  away. 

Some  one  came  into  the  room  as  she  stood 
there.  He  brought  that  nameless  atmosphere 
with  him  which  surrounds  physicians  speaking 
professionally  ;  she  felt  she  could  confide  in  him, 
listen  to  him,  even  take  his  advice,  without  losing 
from  that  reserve  her  position  demanded  of  her. 
It  was  the  young  doctor  who  had  attended  Carl 
Weffold. 

"My  experiment  has  failed,"  he  announced 
simply  ;  "  your  father-in-law  will  be  a  cripple  for 
life." 

She  stood  staring  at  him.  She  held  her  gloves 
in  her  hand,  and  they  seemed  to  remind  her  that 
she  was  free,  about  to  leave  Weffold' s  forever,  or 
the  old  nurse  instinct  of  these  last  three  months 
would  have  been  too  strong,  and  she  would  have 
gone  to  his  assistance. 

"I  have  shocked  you,"  the  young  man  con- 
tinued saying ;  "  I  was  shocked  myself,  cruelly 
disappointed." 

"  It  was  not  my  nursing,"  she  cried ;  "  don't 
tell  me  it  was  my  nursing  !  " 

He  made  a  swift  gesture,  negation  and  reassur- 
ance mixed. 

"  He  could  not  have  lived  without  it,  Mrs. 
Weffold,"  he  said  ;  "  I  thought,  as  I  sat  in  there 

316 


A  Sword  Laid  By 

beside  him,  a  good  many  such  things,  —  of  the 
nights  we  thought  he  had  stopped  breathing,  and 
the  days  when  only  your  rigid  and  untiring  vigil- 
ance kept  that  wearying  delirium  down.  He  has 
come  out  of  it  with  his  reason,  thanks  to  you.  I 
have  feared  sometimes  his  lower  limbs  were  worse 
than  I  imagined ;  but  until  the  rest  of  the  body 
was  strong  enough  to  attempt  walking,  there  was 
no  actual  proof  of  the  matter." 

"  Ah,"  she  cried,  after  a  second,  "  it  was  not 
much  to  save  him  for  — " 

The  speech  ended  like  a  little  moan,  and  she 
put  her  face  in  her  hands  with  one  of  the  old 
impulsive  movements.  When  it  came  out,  she 
said  weakly : 

"  Sal  will  take  his  meals  to  his  bedside,  have 
his  lights  lit  of  an  evening,  every  little  thing  in 
place." 

When  he  was  gone,  she  still  stood  leaning 
against  the  window,  her  face  calm  and  controlling 
its  under-currents,  for  there  were  no  passionate 
accompaniments  this  time.  Presently  she  said,  as 
if  talking  to  no  one,  "  There  will  be  little  things 
Sal  may  forget."  She  was  bothered  by  the  fancy, 
and  went  and  stood  in  the  hall  a  minute,  so  as  to 
breathe  better  air.  Then  from  the  outside  there 
came  to  her  the  shrill  music  of  a  happy  laugh. 
Her  little  boy  was  playing ;  then,  almost  before 
the  sound  was  ended,  she  laid  her  hand  on  Carl 

317 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Weffold's  door-knob  and  entered  his  lonely  room. 
He  was  sitting  in  the  centre  of  it;  no  one  had 
been  there  who  understood  about  it,  so  one  of 
the  shades  was  quite  low  and  cast  a  gentle 
gloom  about  him. 

There  were  little  things  Sal  could  not  do  for 
him.  There  are  little  things  it  takes  a  con- 
science-expert to  do. 

It  wrung  her  heart  all  at  once.  She  went  over 
and  stood  nearer  to  him,  nearer  than  ever  before 
since  he  had  become  wholly  conscious.  He  was 
bent,  old,  feeble  in  appearance,  his  legs  covered 
by  a  quilt ;  she  could  go  far  away,  but  that  lonely 
picture  would  go  with  her,  and  he  had  saved  her 
child's  life. 

"  I  had  meant  to  go  away,"  she  said,  "  to  new 
fields,  to  work,  to  new  faces.  I  thought  I  could 
leave  you  to  Sal ;  I  —  would  you  like  me  to  stay 
with  you  ? " 

He  still  found  it  hard  to  frame  words  to  her ; 
so,  lest  she  go  before  speech  came  to  him,  he 
groped  out  to  hold  her  gown. 


318 


ON   A   CHILD 

SOME  rich  men  had  arrived  in  Hope  from 
New   York.     One   could    tell    they    were 
rich  by  their  manner,  and  by  one  of  them 
carrying  a  dress-suit  case,  which  is  irrelevant  to  a 
novel,  but  wondrously  funny  just  the  same,  —  be- 
coming more  contributive  to  humor  when  taken 
for  a  case  of  revolvers,  and  transported  respect- 
fully by   Mr.   Campbell,  who  would   not   trust 
any  lesser  lights  with  it. 

They  were  quite  fat  rich  men,  as  is  proper,  and 
thought  "  a  little  run  down  to  Arizona  "  sounded 
well  until  they  struck  the  first  Texan  desert. 
Then,  like  the  famous  monarch,  they  never  smiled 
again  until  they  were  safe  at  a  familiar  little  table 
at  Sherry's,  Fifth  Avenue,  once  more,  when  the 
whole  thing  seemed  like  a  ghastly  nightmare. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Claude  had  been  strictly 
honest  in  his  dealings  with  the  syndicate  at  home, 
and  had  sent  them  stirring  little  reports  of  the 
disturbance,  with  soothing  little  addenda  of  his 
own  tacked  on.  These  were  all  read  before  a 
fine  meeting,  and  produced  an  unusual  furor 
amongst  the  wealthy  stockholders,  for  they 

319 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

chanced  to  have  an  attack  ot  ennui.  In  fact,  there 
was  an  epidemic  of  it;  so  one  said,  What  did 
Dick  think  of  their  taking  a  little  run  down  south, 
to,  brush  things  up  a  little  ?  And  Dick  told 
them  it  was  the  very  thing  they  needed.  He 
was  quite  honest  about  it,  and  said  "  they  "  frankly, 
which  threw  the  fat  persons  off  their  guard. 

He  said,  putting  the  mine  aside,  it  would  be 
good  for  them,  for  their  gout  and  their  indiges- 
tion, and  he  thought  their  wives  would  be  better 
for  it,  and  gladder  to  see  them  when  they  came 
home ! 

He  had  an  evil  way  of  saying  that,  had  Mr. 
Dick,  and  then  of  sighing  and  of  winking  after ; 
but  Mrs.  Dick  knew  all  about  him,  and  did  n't 
care. 

So  the  plan  gained  favor  with  them. 

Home,  he  told  Mrs.  Dick  the  mine  was  as  safe 
as  Morgan's,  but  if  he  did  n't  play  jokes,  he 
could  n't  stand  it.  So  that  is  how  the  great  stock- 
holders visited  Hope. 

I  do  not  know  if  there  are  angels  deputized  to 
grant  jesters'  prayers,  but  when  Dick  was  not 
otherwise  engaged  that  fortnight,  he  used  to 
pray  earnestly  to  the  Powers  that  a  number  of 
unpleasant  things  would  happen,  so  his  friends 
might  enjoy  their  financial  outing.  And  when 
he  thought  of  their  several  expressions,  if  Fate 
were  to  assist  his  good  intentions,  he  would  go 

320 


On  a  Child 

off  into  paroxysms  of  hearty  laughter,  and  imagine 
he  was  a  boy  again. 

The  rich  men  travelled  Hopeward  on  the  Sun- 
set Limited  train,  and  found  many  kind  pas- 
sengers who  made  out  whist  hands  with  them,  so 
they  had  a  jolly  good  time  of  it  for  several  days. 
But  past  New  Orleans,  their  spirits  began  to 
waver.  Lots  of  people  have  been  to  New 
Orleans,  but  not  so  many  beyond  it,  and  the 
whole  excursion  began  to  take  a  certain  form  of 
sombre  excitement,  like  the  last  mile  or  so  before 
the  jungles  of  Darkest  Africa. 

In  due  time  they  were  landed  at  Short's,  as 
Robbie  and  Claude  had  been.  It  was  all  new,  then, 
to  them,  so  they  could  not  formulate  their  very 
natural  surprise  before  they  were  packed  into  a 
little  stage  like  a  New  York  grocery-wagon  and 
sent  jogging  southwestward  toward  the  jumping- 
off  place,  as  they  honestly  believed.  It  was  all 
an  immense,  uninhabited  plain,  and  though  they 
were  proud  of  the  United  States,  as  we  should  be, 
it  seemed  large  all  at  once  to  them,  unnecessarily 
large. 

As  I  have  tried  delicately  to  intimate  to  you, 
they  were  quite  fat  rich  men,  as  is  eminently 
proper,  and  they  could  not  get  out  of  the  little 
stage  save  in  a  body,  or  they  would  have,  half 
way  out.  For  the  dry  country  they  'd  heard  so 
much  of  got  in  a  hospitable  humor,  and  worked 

21  321 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

up  a  little  cloud-burst  right  over  their  mstro- 
politan  heads. 

When  they  got  good  and  wet,  they  lost  some 
of  the  reserve  of  a  big  city,  and  began  to  swear  at 
circumstances,  just  as  we  poorer  folks  might  have 
done.  They  did  not  do  so  badly  for  conven- 
tional religious  promoters,  and  it  made  the  driver 
more  free  and  easy ;  so  he  handed  back  his 
flask. 

They  all  floated  cosily  into  Hope,  as  a  cloud- 
burst lends  all  sorts  of  romantic  interest  to  heavy 
country  roads,  and  they  called  the  driver,  "  dear 
boy,"  occasionally,  and  were  otherwise  cosmopoli- 
tan and  cheery  until  they  chanced  to  look  around 
for  hotels.  There  were  none  visible  to  the  naked 
eye,  even  when  they  were  driven  up  before  the 
Palace.  They  repeated  they  wanted  a  hotel,  and 
the  driver  said  it  was  one,  and  they  got  out,  dis- 
illusioned. Then  they  stood  looking  at  it 
through  their  glasses,  with  a  pensive  hauteur 
which  would  have  wrung  the  heart  of  a  New 
York  statue.  It  was  having  a  monetary  symptom, 
where  it  did  n't  do  the  least  bit  of  good,  as  if  one 
worked  up  a  case  of  the  measles  in  a  community 
where  they  were  an  every-day  occurrence. 

Then  Dick  had  prayed  that  the  canned  goods 
they  were  to  eat  would  be  broken  suddenly  to 
them,  and  that  some  one  do  a  little  shooting  to 
stir  them  up  a  bit.  All  of  which  occurred  in 

322 


On  a  Child 

a  hospitable  and  not  over-done  manner.  For 
from  their  several  windows  was  the  sort  of 
scenery  which  looked  as  if  empty  tin  cans  were 
Arizona  vegetation ;  and  it  is  not  exactly  cheer- 
ing to  feted  city  appetites.  A  young  fellow 
from  some  neighboring  ranch  put  the  finishing 
touches  to  it.  He  "shot  up  the  town,"  as  we 
say  down  here.  He  said  after,  he  heard  there 
were  strangers  present,  and  so  it  may  have  been 
for  their  entertainment. 

They  said  they  were  going  home.  Things 
wore  on  their  nerves,  and  they  could  not  stand  it. 
In  ordinary  language,  they  and  their  commercial 
ambitions  had  collapsed.  They  would  only  stay 
two  days  more. 

One  of  these  days  they  drove  around  the 
country.  They  saw  the  landmarks  with  which  we 
are  all  familiar.  They  passed  Weffold's.  It  was 
an  immense  estate  full  of  unlimited  resources,  and 
they  had  a  discussion  on  it.  They  said  it  was  a 
pity  such  a  financial  affair  as  that  had  to  pass  out  of 
its  founder's  hands  ;  it  could  have  no  heir.  It  was 
like  the  great  city  enterprises  which  invariably 
failed  when  transmitted  to  the  care  of  sons.  Even 
one's  reputation  was  very  apt  to  drift  in  with  the 
commercial  debris  to  pot.  Claude,  whom  they 
all  remembered  as  a  thin,  dark,  girlish  boy  with  a 
fortune,  said  he  thought  they  were  mistaken.  He 

323 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

was  still  rather  solemn,  Claude,  but  had  acquired  a 
wife  and  a  sense  of  humor  lately,  which  lent  dignity 
to  his  self-confidence.  The  wife  was  self-evident, 
and  gave  glowing  emphasis  to  him,  but  the  sense 
of  humor  was  a  souvenir  of  their  courtship,  and 
only  disturbed  sentimental  moments  of  his  per- 
sonality. Then  through  some  mocking  little 
laugh,  some  faintly  tantalizing  smile,  some  sharp 
repartee,  all  public,  she  threw  a  plumb  line  to 
him,  down  into  his  worshipping,  tender  heart, 
and  Claude  was  compensated. 

So  far,  life  was  delicious  to  him,  and  should 
there  come  a  day  when  he  seems  hen-pecked  to  us, 
as  is  inevitable,  let  us  go  out  believing,  that  she  is 
flippant,  indifferent,  sharp-hearted,  and  he  should 
not  stand  it.  Let  us  do  all  this,  my  friends,  let 
us  go  out  leaving  their  secret  to  them  —  her 
coquetries,  her  straight  little  plumb  line,  his 
lordly  and  contented  love. 

The  rich  men  were  mistaken  in  their  judg- 
ment, young  Garnet  said.  He  wished  he  him- 
self had  been  identified  with  some  state's  early 
history  ;  it  was  an  immense  and  endless  honor. 
He  said  Arizona  had  not  even  begun  to  creep, 
less  toddle ;  but  there  would  come  a  day  when 
great  possessions  like  Carl  Weffold's,  rightly 
guided,  would  flow  back  to  sustain  and  pro- 
tect her.  So,  were  a  man  forced  to  leave  his  own, 
it  were  well  if  he  could  elect  his  successor ;  well 

324 


On  a  Child 

if  he  could  take  a  little  child  with  the  country, 
rather  than  personal  possessorship,  in  his  veins ; 
if  he  could  guide  the  little  feet  toward  univer- 
sality, mould  the  little  reason  to  its  country's 
needs,  and  then  sow  that  country  in  the  little  heart, 
so  it  spring  up  love,  as  the  love  for  a  brother. 

The  rich  men  listened  to  him.  They  thought 
he  had  advanced  some  sound  ideas,  and  suggested 
he  repeat  them  next  day  at  the  big  directors' 
meeting  they  had  called.  He  excused  himself 
briefly  ;  whereat  one  of  the  visitors  asked  if 
Claude  had  any  vital  objection  to  his  using  some 
of  the  remarks  as  his  own.  They  were  certainly 
very  telling,  and  of  course  the  future  owner  of 
WefFold's  —  Carl's  choice  of  an  heir,  as  it  were 
—  interested  them  vaguely,  in  fact,  a  good  deal, 
if  the  investment  continued  laying  its  golden 

egg- 
Claude's  mind  had  become  abstracted ;  as  if 

in  answer  to  his  vehemence,  the  horizon  had 
framed  a  picture  for  him. 

Down  at  the  old  frontiersman's  great  gate  was 
a  little  child  being  helped  on  to  a  solemn  donkey 
by  a  tall  young  woman,  whose  expression  was 
rather  unsexed  by  grief.  The  rich  gentlemen 
were  too  far  off  to  see,  but  her  eyes  seemed  to 
hold  life's  tragedy  in  a  nut-shell.  They  were 
handsome  eyes,  with  a  constant  smile  for  the  child 
before  her,  like  light  on  a  pretty  lake,  and  be- 

325 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

neath  this  was  a  certain  calm,  as  of  an  old  man 
asleep  under  a  peaceful  paper ;  and,  invisible,  like 
Robbie's  plumb  line,  was  a  sentence  she  said  day 
and  night,  at  little  task  and  noble  duty,  ever  and 
so  forever  : 

"  I  love  you,  wherever  you  are  !  " 

Eternal  as  a  clock  tick,  and  may  be  it  does  not 
harm  the  blessedness  of  God's  promise  to  wish 
Bax  some  time  heard  it,  he,  as  they  say  down  in 
this  country,  he  who  had  been  "  parted  out." 

I  have  wearied  you,  my  readers.  The  great 
men  met  next  day  in  a  directors'  meeting,  as  it 
was  planned  they  should.  They  had  sent  rather 
imperative  summons  for  Carl  Weffold  to  join 
them,  and  the  crippled  financier  sent  a  suave  note 
in  response  to  them,  in  his  cramped  Germanic 
hand,  written  in  his  own  deliberate  manner,  and 
saying  —  the  owner  of  Weffbld's  would  appear. 

They  were  well  content  at  it ;  he  was  a  million- 
aire and  possessed  an  interest  for  them. 

Some  local  celebrities  had  drifted  into  the 
meeting  from  other  camps.  There  were  miners, 
mine  owners,  mine  superintendents.  Mr.  Camp- 
bell was  in  his  element.  He  had  new  over-alls, 
and  talked  a  good  deal  to  no  one.  He  had 
cracked  a  joke  at  the  start,  and  when  it  seemed 
fairly  successful,  it  encouraged  him  to  put  it  to- 
gether and  re-crack  it  to  each  new  arrival.  "  Ef 
the  President  could  only  appear  —  inpromptu- 

326 


On  a  Child 

like  —  amongst   them,   Arizona   need    have   no 
fears,  she'd  become  a  State." 

It  is  an  interesting  joke  to  us,  clamoring  for 
our  small  star  to  shine  on  this  great  glad  country, 
but  I  cannot  analyze  its  other  attributes. 

Carl  Weffold  was  the  last  to  arrive.  Claude 
told  the  rich  men  to  have  patience.  The  old 
man  was  able  to  come,  or  he  would  not  have  said 
so ;  but  it  was  rather  understood  about  the  country 
that  an  accident  had  left  him  hopelessly  lame. 
Yet  amongst  introductions  and  wearying  speeches, 
he  wondered  if  Carl  would  keep  his  word. 

The  great  owner  of  all  WefFold  had  not  meant 
to  fail  of  appearance.  He  had  started  out  deter- 
mined to  do  as  was  said,  but,  half  way  up  the  high 
mine  hill,  his  legs  gave  out  and  he  slipped  harm- 
lessly down  on  the  slaggy  ground  to  hold  converse 
with  a  cotton-batting  elephant  about  it.  This 
knowing  brute  suggested  that  Shorty  carry  them 
the  rest  of  the  way  on  his  shoulders.  The  intelli- 
gent solution  occurred,  and,  as  they  were  accom- 
plishing the  journey,  the  glad  sun  grew  warm,  and 
smiled  a  handsome  blessing  on  them,  on  the  kind, 
laboring  figure  of  the  rough,  old  man,  on  that  arch 
diplomat,  the  elephant,  on  the  wealthy  little  sun- 
burnt owner  of  old  Carl  Weffold's  mighty  range; 
and  when  he  raised  his  lips,  the  sun  seemed  to 
kiss  them,  and  so  they  went  on  to  a  directors' 
meeting. 

327 


In  the  Country  God  Forgot 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  when  the  fat  gentle- 
men were  at  the  proper  pitch  to  discuss  the 
future  of  Arizona,  the  possibilities  of  immense 
irrigation,  and  other  scholarly  ideas,  the  pine  door 
of  the  mill  house  opened,  and  there  entered  a  little 
child.  He  was  still  on  Shorty's  faithful  shoulders,, 
and  from  this  height  he  saw  grim  faces  break  at 
Carl  Weffold's  message  to  them  ;  from  this  height 
he  saw  a  smile  come,  love  and  false  shame  and  big 
tears,  all  blended,  and  he  smiled  back  at  them 
radiantly.  Then  from  this  height  —  sweet  with 
love,  poor  Shorty  —  he  too  heard  the  storm  of 
cheers  they  sent  up  around  him.  For  one  elab- 
orate little  second  the  great  noise  startled  him 
with  its  force  —  him  and  his  faithful  elephant. 
Then,  with  a  glad  little  cry,  he  bent  to  the  friend- 
liness in  it,  and  joined  his  innocent  arms  and  voice 
to  the  mad  applause. 


328 


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